Bromance
by shadowtoby
Summary: Derek goes off to a retreat with his best friend Stiles, but not before his girlfriend says that's it's ok for them to fool around. What will they do?
1. Chapter 1

_So this is my very first fanfic EVER and I was feeling a bit inspired. This is definitely AU. No supernatural elements. Nothing to do with the show at all. I just liked the characters. If people like it, then I will write more of them. Comments would be greatly appreciated. _

_I DO NOT OWN TEEN WOLF OR ANY OF THE CHARACTERS ASSOCIATED WITH THEM!_

Chapter 1:

"You know," Kate said to Derek, "if you and Stiles wanted to experiment, I wouldn't be opposed."

Derek attempted his sincerest approximation of shock, because it wasn't meant to be something spoken aloud – certainly not _offered_. It also was something beyond credibility to deny, but he felt responsibility to do so even if it didn't come off credible.

Was it something she'd been trying to find the best time to mention? Had she concluded it may well be now, while during him to the airport, like she wanted to get it out in the open before seeing him off.

"Very funny," Derek said unconvincingly, but it was admirable far as responses went, because it was a running gag already wasn't it, _about him and Stiles_.

She looked deliberately over the steering wheel at traffic before attempting the excruciating left turn onto La Tijera Boulevard.

"I wouldn't blame you at all."

Derek's' brow furrowed; should that have been hurtful..? Not really – because another running gag was that Stiles was the _sexiest man alive_. Or maybe not so much a gag as a casually accepted fact.

"Next time we experiment, I'll let you know," he said sarcastically.

"All the gory details?"

"Every last one."

But even if she meant it sincerely, it wasn't something to take without precaution; most disconcerting was the latent awareness that _here was permission to try,_ and it was dangerous ground.

_A/N: So what did you think? I know this chapter is SUPER short, but hopefully they will get longer. Comments are appreciated because this is my very first fanfic story and I would love to improve on it if you guys think there's something there._


	2. Chapter 2

_Disclaimer: I do not own Teen Wolf or any of its characters._

Chapter 2:

_My girlfriend thinks I should fuck you!_

You don't exactly come out and say it, even to a friend you're so sickly close to you can wear his shorts without asking, or tell him that he needs to take a shower, or let yourself into his place when he isn't home, or maybe you could say it if it weren't too true to be delivered lightly.

That was the thing though. There was no reason to deliver it at all, because it remained unspoken, and mutually agreed on between them for years, _whether they should fuck each other, _that was, not whether Kate thought they should. They'd already had each other thoroughly with their eyes; it went more profoundly than anything roughhousing said _because with roughhousing, there's an explanation._

It can be passed off as something _amicable_. It didn't carry unspent potential the way _just looking_ did.

"There's no shampoo left in the bottle," Stiles said, he was shaving at the sink, observing through the mirror as Derek tapped the container upside down onto one hand in attempt to get the last bits out. Hair wet in his eyes, squinting against the stream.

"Here-," Stiles reached to rinse his razor before laying it by the sink, shaving cream still covering part of his cheek; he made his way to the nearby cabinet and opened it briskly, rummaging for some time. He pulled out about five separate containers and some unidentified item he'd not remember buying before finding a new shampoo bottle.

Derek's arm was dripping wet, getting water on Stiles' shirt as he mouthed, "thanks."

And then, "that's my razor!"

"Is it?" Stiles asked, holding it out for closer inspection. "It's just a disposable one."

"The blade's no good, throw that one out."

There was something suffocating about _what everyone thought_. What everyone thought was that Stiles and Derek should just bag each other, and this caused irresistible pressure to silence all of that. It made you question how it affected your image as a manly man, if it was good or bad, and if there was such a thing as bad publicity. It made Stiles start denying everything blatantly as he could around their friends, because it was up to them to draw the line.

_No, we just love each other like brothers._

The walkway was narrow between the shower and the sink, Derek got him wet while stepping behind him, nudging his shoulder to move so he could get to the towels.

_Your girlfriend thinks you should fuck me. _There was no way to explain that without sounding daft, even if she was of the same mind as countless others.

Derek was always too careful roughhousing with him. _It's alright, just hit me, _Stiles would say, like Derek was afraid of his own brute strength. He tugged him to delicately now, asking him to move so he could get to the cabinet, "here's where the razors are," he said, "if you want a new one." Stiles regarded the one in his hand; he tapped it at the sink and washed off the foam before putting the sheath back on.

There was barely enough room for the both of them before the sink, he watched out of the corner of his eye as Derek started with the shaving cream; they caught each other's gaze in the mirror.

"Here," Derek said, he turned toward him partway and reached to shave off a bit of the foam that was left.

"Fuck off," Stiles laughed, but Derek held him deliberately in place, grinning, he splashed him with water.

"You can't even shave on your own," he muttered with a smile.

"I have to wait like three days at a time for my mom to come by and do it for me," Stiles' voice emanated from the other room, where he'd gone to finish getting ready. _It was a great idea to do this retreat._

_A/N: So there you go Chapter 2. It's pretty shitty because I'm still figuring out where to go with it, but if you have any suggestions, feel free to message me. _


	3. Chapter 3

_Disclaimer: I don't own Teen Wolf or any of the characters. Just like them a lot! _

Chapter 3:

For a pale guy, Stiles spent an awful lot of time outdoors. He'd get up early to run, he'd bike if he could've brought his bike along, but what he _really_ loved was tennis. He'd talk to you all day about it if he didn't suspect that it would bore you to tears.

During their time at the retreat, Derek had grown accustomed to waking at exactly 5:15 in the morning, when Stiles' alarm would go off. He'd pretend to sleep through it, because they shared a room and it Stiles knew his alarm work him every morning, he'd undoubtedly feel bad about that. Derek would watch in the darkness as Stiles gingerly moved through the room, sliding the drawers open very slowly to keep quiet, even after his alarm had been loud; he'd collect his jogging clothes in one hand, illuminating the inside of a drawer with his phone, then pad his way to the bathroom to change.

Derek could hear him brush his teeth, the brief spray of deodorant, sounds of containers placed on the counter; he'd cough and clear his throat, there'd be the slide of fabric as he changed out of his night clothes. Then there was something of a hollow feeling when he'd seat himself at the edge of his bed and put on his shoes, rapid with the laces, the last thing before he'd head out –

- Then the small suite would be laid in silence.

The sound of the hallway clock ticking, the fridge buzzing in the kitchen, stuff you don't pay attention to until you're left alone; Derek couldn't get back to sleep. He'd lethargically slide the sheets away and climb out of bed to get to the bathroom, where the sink was still wet, and Stiles' comb still at the side of the sink. He ought to join him on his runs, he'd think this every morning but end up going back to sleep after that.

"My girlfriend thinks I should fuck you," he yawned to Stiles one morning, still half asleep and turned with his back to the room. Stiles had been rummaging through a drawer for his socks, "who doesn't think that," he replied without turning around; here was nothing new, _anyone with Facebook knew that_. Funny how much safer it sounded now that it was irreversibly out in the open, like already it were well-trodden ground.

"Told her I ought to wine and dine you first," Derek murmured sleepily, voice muffled in his pillow.

"I look forward to that," Stiles said without missing a beat, he headed to the bathroom for his morning routine; his voice emanated vaguely, "I'd like a baked potato…!"

Derek walked in on him touching himself once, both startled, they burst out laughing, Derek spun the other way and cried humorously, "_Put that thing away…!"_ After that, he added, "_Thinking of me weren't you,_" and Stiles was quick to reply, "_Even I think of myself when I do it, doesn't everyone?"_ He was blushing quite hotly, however, despite the clever response.

Not like they hadn't seen each other naked before, not like there was a person on Earth who _didn't_ get off, but _it was something embarrassing to walk in on regardless._ Stiles hadn't said he'd heard Derek get off late at night, probably meaning to be quiet, breath coming shallow and _unmistakably familiar for what it was._

The brother he'd never had but always wanted, he'd have walked in on him ages ago if they'd grown up together; in their adolescence the internet was still at its early years , they'd probably have hidden porn magazines. Stiles would have whispered, _Where'd you get this?_, and Derek would've smirked, _not telling you_ – because the truth would be far less scandalous than whatever he'd leave him assuming.

Derek would have been the older brother, even if he really was younger than Stiles. He would've driven him and picked him up from Lacrosse before Stiles had learned to drive. They would've had bunk beds well into their teens, and Derek would've let Stiles have the top bunk.

_It would've been so much cooler than being an only child._

"I don't understand why it's always Derek who'd meant to be the top, and I'm the one on the bottom," Stiles said over dinner. They were out with a large group from the retreat after a long day of hiking, everyone was exhausted but in spirited moods. Stiles and Derek were sat beside one another, both laughing into their drinks. Stiles indicated Derek with his hand to demonstrate, "Really, who came up with that?"

Derek was now fully grinning, half the table laughing along. "I'm bigger my friend," he said, and winked across the table at one of the other retreat goers, who nodded like it were sound deduction of logic. One of them raised an eyebrow and snickered, "Bigger how?"

Now both Derek and Stiles flushed brightly and burst into mutual laughter, Derek waving his hand around and denying the whole thing. "Nooo…Not bigger like that…!"

Stiles briefly looked down, then back up at Derek, "This conversation has taken a turn from the dangerous," he chuckled. _Now they were going to defend each other. Derek was going to say Stiles definitely had a big one in his pants, he was going to talk like it was something he personally knew._ Deliberately unashamed.

"No, I agree," Derek said, "you would be on top."

A girl arrived with their food, proceeding to place the plates before everyone seated; she was most of the way to setting one of the smaller plates for Derek when he looked up from his drink; he grinned toothily and indicated Stiles.

"No," he said, "that's meant for him."

Stiles turned from where he was placing the napkin in his lap; he laughed straight away, reaching to slide the baked potato toward himself. "Where's my wine?" he asked.

_A/N: It's a bit longer, but I'm not quite happy with it. Does it feel like I was rambling a bit? You be the judge. More to follow…._


	4. Chapter 4

_So I thought I would continue with this story. I don't know if you like or not yet, but I hope so. _

_Disclaimer: I don't own Teen Wolf or the characters. I just like them a lot! _

Chapter 4:

Stiles supposed if there was a guy he'd actually _get with_, it would probably be Derek Hale. He observed him directly on his exit from the shower, uncertain exactly how a guy with a body like that only scored around five percent of the votes on their friends' _Sexiest Man_ contest, while he scored over seventy percent, himself; he almost felt he had to apologize. He'd say to Derek, _I'd have voted for you. I did vote for you._

He admittedly inwardly that even while he'd only ever felt attracted to women, there was something mesmerizing in watching him disrobed, clear streamlets of water glittering down the tanned expanse of his sculpted chest. Surely _everyone_ understood that…?

He'd got in the shower after Derek, still catching glimpses of his towel in the bedroom where he was drying his hair, vague, familiar motions somewhere in the background. _He hoped there was some hot water left, where they were you'd run out very fast._

It was evening, there were going to watch some films, at least the heating worked well; Stiles had got a towel round his waist and stepped out, uselessly combing his hair at the sink. Derek already was dressed; he stepped in behind him, carrying a football helmet. "Move your arms," he asked, and Stiles chuckled in confusion, he dodged a little but stood still when Derek asked a second time. Derek very gingerly placed the helmet on his head and stood back, observing as though deep in thought.

"You'd definitely have to wear that," he concluded, and Stiles gently adjusted the helmet, it was a bit lopsided to the left. "Only that?" he laughed, and Derek stood back with his arms crossed, like he were weighing it in mind, "Only that and you have to say, _Kneel…!"_

"Thought you'd want me in handcuffs," Stiles said, now taking the helmet off, "and that, you know—."

"Nah," Derek said, "Never really liked handcuffs."

"Gentle guy after all," Stiles replied, finally walking into the bedroom. He carefully placed the helmet on the bed before proceeding to dress, his short hair now even messier than before.

They'd been halfway through the movie when Stiles spontaneously asked, "Does she really?"

_Like he didn't know, Like Kate hadn't said the same thing to him several weeks ago._

Derek turned his gaze momentarily to him, then to the TV again. "Yeah," he said plainly, voice somehow soft. "She does."

Silence.

"And what, does she want it recorded? Like with your phone or something?"

Derek laughed. "She'd probably like that," he said, eyes still on the screen.

After several moments more, he turned back to Stiles, deliberately smiling. "_Nah, I won't be recor –,"_ He stopped mid-sentence, laughing fully now, head tilted back—_because there he was actually considering it._

Stiles leaned back on the couch, also laughing, one hand rubbing his chin.

Derek wouldn't be the type of guy who'd just bang you; Stiles imagined he'd _take proper care of him after;_ they were brothers, after all. He'd probably spoon with him after, kiss him behind the ear, all the stuff Stiles would have done with a woman, which now he tried to imagine being done to him.

_Shit! They both were actually considering it now._

"You're really thinking about it," Stiles said with and incredulous smile, "you're really thinking of doing it."

Derek raised an eyebrow; he turned to face Stiles from where he was watching TV.

"Well, yeah…!" he laughed, his voice came low and deep.

The smiles remained plastered to their faces for several minutes, like they didn't know what to do with them; they regarded each other as the full weight of the matter slowly sank in.

"Alright," Stiles finally said, like were any challenge he was willing to try, "and she's really ok with this?"

Derek's expression grew a bit serious; his eyes darted over Stiles' face and he nodded slowly, uncertain now that the matter required his consent. "Yeah," he said very softly, "yeah, she is."

Silence.

The TV still on, discordant some distance away; vague sound of nighttime animals making their nightly sounds. An owl flew past the window.

"C'mere," Stiles' voice came low, he leaned sideward to face Derek on the couch. Derek hesitated; he blinked, met Stiles' gaze, hands still in his lap; then he moved in to close the small distance between them.

He hadn't kissed anyone with such experimental curiosity since he was a kid.

_A/N: So they kissed! But what else will they do? Stay tuned…_


	5. Chapter 5

_Disclaimer: I do not own Teen Wolf. I just like the characters. _

Chapter 5:

You kiss your friends, and it isn't emotionally laden. You can share intimate moments, but nothing comes of it; _here however was something quite emotionally charged._ Stiles had kissed Derek before, on the cheek, on the top of the head, they'd got their paws all over each other while roughhousing –

_But the psychological weight of this made it entirely different._

"You're so gentle," Stiles laughed, breath humid between them, their fingertips were very light on one another; "I want like –," he tilted his head, moved in to kiss him again, didn't quite finish; this close up, Derek's eyes were smiling.

"To what?" he asked, childlike and attentive, audibly enthusiastic to do it again.

He leaned gingerly in, met Stiles' eyes, Stiles was looking down at his lips, _his eyelashes seemed long from up close;_ they hesitated, laughter breathily between them. "I've not –," Stiles said, "—I've never kissed a man before –."

He shook his head; they both were trying to figure out what they thought of it. "You're gonna call her now?" Stiles chuckled, "Tell her you've properly kissed me?"

Derek frowned. "I haven't kissed you, that wasn't a proper kiss."

"I reckon it wasn't, just a small kiss, more like."

_It sounded so strange spoken aloud._

They both inwardly wondered if they wanted to do it.

"Right. On three," Derek said, but before he'd got to two, Stiles leaned in and _kissed him properly._ Derek's eyebrows rose to his hairline, Stiles was every bit as good at that as he was at everything else. Derek let him lead for a few seconds before coming to his senses and starting to kiss back.

He emerged from it breathless, absently fingering his lips; he tosses himself back on the cushions and laughed.

"Holy shit!" he chuckled, still touching his lips, "where did you…how…"

Stiles was enjoying this fully. He was sat with one leg elegantly folded, grinning too thinly and vastly content. "You wanna call her now," he asked, "or should I go and put on the helmet?"

"Yeah, go put on the helmet," Derek laughed, flushing despite himself, "_Shit, that was…hot..."_

Stiles observed as Derek reached for his phone, already murmuring aloud in pretense of what he was going to email, "_kissed…Stiles…so…horrible…"_

"Fuck you! Give me that," Stiles laugh, stretching over him for the phone, but Derek deliberately held it out of reach. "You mean _so awesome,"_ Stiles said, still trying to grab it from his hands, "_best…kiss…I ever…had!"_

"Best kiss I ever had?" Derek laughed, contorting himself in all manner of convoluted positions to keep him from getting the phone; Stiles kept on with pretense of what Derek ought to have typed, "Ten out of ten, would –,"

They regarded each other mid-grapple, each fishing the words in mind, _would bang._

Stiles snickered loudly, head turned aside, one hand rubbing over his mouth; Derek also smiled, both hands rubbing at his eyes as he leaned backward.

"I've…completely lost track of the movie," he said.

"We're watching a movie?"

"Yeah, we were."

For the rest of the movie, they remained glued to their seats, staring ahead in a daze, neither paying attention. Derek's phone dangling forgotten between his forefinger and thumb, both aware they _really kissed each other._ Stiles felt him on his lips; _for a strong guy, Derek was inhumanly gentle._

There was a curious thrill about it, _because it was taboo,_ because it was a _challenge_, because Stiles had wondered what it _really was like;_ how for the remainder of his days, if ever anyone asked if he'd kissed a guy, he'd have to say _yes_, and that's how he would go down in history. And if no one asked, there'd still be the awareness inside that _he'd done it, and nobody knew._

_Daft thing to worry about, really._

"Could I come along on your run tomorrow," Derek asked spontaneously; it was first thing he'd said in nearly forty minutes. Stiles was caught off guard; he turned toward him, lips opened partway, like he wasn't prepared for a question like that. "Sure," he said. "You didn't have to ask."

"Yeah, alright," Derek said, "cool."

They got ready for bed in a daze, neither mentioning it, both thinking of it and of _nothing else but_, each aware of the possibility of _far dirtier things._

_You want all the gory details? _Derek emailed Kate, and within a few moments his phone rang; Stiles grinned incredulously from the opposite side of the room.

"Shit," he muttered, "didn't take you long."

As Derek went on speaking to her, Stiles tossed, a pillow directly at his head, he called across the room, "Do I get to tell my bit? I took part in it too."

"Stiles wants to tell you about kissing me," Derek said, he handed over the phone. Stiles could hear her laugh on the other end of the line.

He was frightfully polite and charming, all manners, and warm regard; he asked how she was, how her day went, said what a pleasure it was to hear her voice. – _and how he enjoyed kissing her boyfriend._

_A/N: So here it is. I'll try to update as much as much as I can. I've been getting a lot of views but no comments yet. Please tell me what you think of it. Well until next time…_


	6. Chapter 6

_A little note: I was bored because it was my day off and I wrote a few chapters. I hope you enjoy them. I'm glad about all the people reading it, would love to hear your thoughts about the story._

_Disclaimer: I don't own Teen Wolf or the characters. I just like them! _

Chapter 6:

The next day, Derek and Stiles acted as if _they hadn't kissed at all_. Like they hadn't stayed up late into the night, unable to fall asleep, _still thinking about it._ Kate had sounded satisfied, like it made her week, she had asked Derek _what kissing Stiles had been like._

At the time, Derek was still in the bedroom; he glanced over his shoulder to see whether Stiles was listening, and elegantly rounded the corner out of the room. He cupped his hand over the phone, lowered his voice, murmured part incoherently, "He fucking great at that!"

"I heard that…!" Stiles called from the bedroom, "Knew you though I was good…!"

"Screw you," Derek called back, trying to hide his smile.

_What a strange night it'd been._

Now and then on the following day, Derek would think back to it, wondering if it had been real at all, and what he ought to think of it now; Stiles was still the same Stiles as he'd always known. They were hanging out with the rest of the retreat group, messing around and having a few laughs, finishing each other's lines. It was second nature, they had a world of inside jokes that no one else got.

_Plus, they made out last night._

"Weird, isn't it," Stiles said over lunch, they had sandwiches cut into triangles; he was picking the bread apart to see what was inside. Derek looked up from over his food, Stiles regarded him with eyes squinted against the cold sunlight.

"I liked it," Derek said without shame, voice muffled over his sandwich.

Stiles watched him for several moments before bursting into laughter, he looked away, then back at Derek, then down at his food. "We really did that, didn't we?" he said.

They observed the others out in the common room, people laughing and giggling, and it occurred to Stiles that if others knew, it wouldn't come as a surprise; it would be passed off as one of the many _things_ between them that were just _something between brothers._

"I think I might get a t-shirt," Derek said while staring off into the fireplace, like he was in deep thought. "'_I kissed Stiles Stilinski,' _in big letters, right on the front." He gestured with his fingers across his chest as to demonstrate. Stiles laughed, "Can't have too many people buy that shirt, makes me look cheap."

Derek regarded him momentarily. "Yeah, maybe that's a bad idea for mass production."

_Did you get hard,_ Kate had asked, and Derek huffed into the phone, _this isn't one of your fantasies, it's not like that. I don't like guys._

_It did though._

He and Stiles had got along fantastically, well despite it, they were too close for something awkward to really matter; in the evening, they cooked dinner together, chatting as usual over the dishes and pots, the sound of knives on the carving board, hiss of the gas stove, oil sizzling in the pans. They'd forget all about it, they were shoving and wrestling as usual _like it was no different now than before. _Of course, Stiles was good at cooking, too – or maybe he just made sure to tell you about the things he was good at, so you'll know. So you'll wonder how he could be _so perfect,_ and _so humble_, and _so charming_, and maybe you'd forget that it was all a facade, if you were clever enough.

Derek knew him better than that though, _knew him for who he truly was,_ like he was his own flesh and blood.

"You'd probably be one of those guys who could, you know –" Stiles said, partly turning around, sleeves rolled to the elbow, cheese grater in hand. "Once of those guys who could lift you right off the ground and just –" he made a motion to indicate lifting, Derek glanced from where he was stirring the rice. He frowned as though deep in thought, inspecting Stiles up and down. "I guess I could," he said, then turned back to the stove. "Not still thinking about it, are you?"

"We're both still thinking about it," came a reply, "don't know if I really feel like being lifted…"

"Don't know until you try."

"Yeah, I suppose so."

"Think we should just do it and get it over with?" Derek asked, and Stiles gave it serious thought. The sound of the knife on the carving board, cutting through in repetitive stops; "that's probably the best way to go about it," Stiles replied, voice slow as he weighed it over. "First time's always bad, isn't it?"

"Just how many _first times_ have you had with a dude?"

"Oh _loads," _Stiles said sarcastically.

"I have – no _qualms_ –" Derek said, still minding the pot, "doing that with you, just – actually, forget that. Yeah I do."

The both stopped momentarily, again in deep consideration; they weren't certain if they had qualms about it or not. "No," Stiles finally said, "we've got qualms because we're both guys."

"But…" Stiles went slower with the cutting. "Guess if there's a guy I'd try it with, it would be you."

But once they did that, there'd be no going back; for the rest of their days, they will have _done it with another guy_, it would be irreversible, indelible seal in their mutual past, like a dark secret against which they'll forever be judged in their thoughts – so that made it a very big decision.

It wasn't that _actually doing it_ would be so bad.

Even with their entire group of female friends egging them on in their hearts, even with their deep fondness for one another, _and eve with no one thinking it would make them 100% gay, _there was an inescapable social stigma that stood blatant without anyone actively needing to point it out.

It permeated and tainted what otherwise was pure and innocent love, and natural curiosity and experimentation.

"But this is dumb, why should that matter," Derek asked, _like he really wanted to prove all that wrong_. He turned around decidedly, wooden spoon still in hand. "Know what, you can do it to me, if you're bothered."

Stiles remained where he was, one hand on the tomato he was cutting, one on the knife handle; he turned partway to Derek. "I'm not bothered, you can do it –" he stopped, uncertain if they really _ought to get it over with._

There was something in his heart that was painful, and it was more difficult to sort out than all their logistical planning; "There's no passion in any of that, is there?" he asked, voice somehow humble; but what was passion there would be wouldn't last through the awkward stumbling of _first time with a guy,_ either way.

Spoon in hand, Derek paced closer to Stiles, he made him flinch inadvertently when he gently brought one hand to his mandible, but Stiles let him move in to kiss him after that.

"I'll get used to that eventually," Stiles said, going back to cutting.

"_Passion" _is like…what? Like throwing all this food off the counter, getting you on there…"

"Yeah, tearing each other's clothes off, making love with everything spilled on the floor…"

Derek regarded the floor momentarily, then the counter; "Yeah…not doing that."

Stiles stopped in place, suddenly staring incredulously; "You just kissed me again," he said, like it only then sunk in. They remained dumbly stood opposite each other, both reflecting as with deep philosophical introspection on recent events.

"Right now, there's so much…like…" Derek said, explaining with his hands;

"Unresolved –" Stiles added, and finally Derek held one hand out and shrugged, "Let's just do this," he offered, and Stiles nodded abruptly, placing the knife on the counter. He wiped his hands unceremoniously on his jeans and proceeded most of the way out of the kitchen before adding, "Right, turn off the stove."

_A/N: So they're about to get it on. Bear with me. I hope I can do them justice! Until next time…_


	7. Chapter 7

Chapter 7:

"_Do you know what we're about to do?"_

Sitles was on the phone to Kate; Derek had made the call.

"_Something you wish you could watch,_" Derek laughed from where they'd lain on his bed.

"That's not very nice," Sitles said, ever the gentleman, he made him apologize. They were secretly grateful to do it _for her_, so they couldn't blame themselves; "Not drunk, are you?" Kate asked, and Sitles elegantly replied, "We are one hundred percent sober."

She didn't stay on the line beyond that, _it wouldn't be magical._

Sitles and Derek we also aware they were meant to make it somehow _magical._

"She would have loved to see me carry you into the room," Derek said, "Kind of – lower you onto the mattress—"

They went quiet after that; gray silhouettes on the wall, Derek's hands very gently went to the buttons on Stiles' shirt. He worked delicately at the buttons, Sitles gazed sheepishly down, like he didn't know what to do in the meantime; he smiled, _is this how it would have felt if he'd had an older brother?_ Either way, he was surprised by how natural it felt for Derek to do so.

From close up, Sitles smelled nice; _clean and distinctly male,_ like guys when they leave for work in the morning. He accommodated when Derek pulled off the sleeves, he looked good with his shirt off.

"Come here," he said, tugging Derek by the arm, he lay on his back and Derek attempted very carefully not to place his weight on him as he climbed over. They regarded each other from up close, eyes darting over one another's face; there came the humid expiration of breath between them, _somehow this was familiar_,_ too._

"On three," Stiles' voice came very gentle, vulnerable, he might as well have said _kiss me_. They counted silently, suddenly shy, Derek got his forearm behind Stiles' head as he leaned in.

There was unearthly innocence about it; they didn't stop while Sitles reach to tug at the fabric of Derek's shirt.

"Wow, your pecs," he laughed, voice issuing muffled, his hands trailed over Derek's perfect chest and abdomen, and Derek regarded him sheepishly; he smiled like he'd been caught doing something wrong.

He pulled back in order to tug his shirt off. When they kissed after that, they forgot momentarily about discipline; they'd got their hands on each other, aware that it was _weird_, but also that the feel of human flesh was not something unfamiliar, _that they'd already known each other quite well._

They stilled all at once when they felt quite distinctly they both were _hard._

Propped up by the elbows, Sitles glanced silently between them, and Derek followed suit, he laughed and got his hand on Stiles'.

"Oh—no, don't do—" Sitles started, his voice died in his throat when Derek got his hand in front of his pants.

Their eyes slowly met; they both grinned, embarrassed, aware the goal was _not to back out;_ any guy would be lying if he'd said he'd _never been curious_. Sitles had seen him naked before, but _he'd not actually touch it._

He deliberately didn't let go. His long fingers traced the member from outside the fabric of his jeans, inquisitive, _if they had been brothers, would they have done this_?

_Would they have compared sizes and lengths and girths, sometime in adolescence?_

Derek didn't tell him that it felt nice, but Sitles could see it in his expression; they gazed curiously down, neither saying a word when Stiles' hands went for the buckle of Derek's belt. He helped him along, there came the familiar clink of the belt, the slide of the fabric, _Derek really looked fantastic without clothes on._

After they'd got the fly undone, they both hesitated. "You know you don't have to," Derek said apologetically, but Sitles _couldn't_ back out. "Yeah I do," he replied, he gripped the heavy denim at the edge of Derek's jeans and tugged them down.

_Can't believe we're doing this._

"You really don't have t—OH SHIT!"

Sitles had actually got his hand on his member; Derek stared at him with a combination of shock and enjoyment, _really_ fighting to somehow be _cool_ about this.

"You…" his voice came low and deep, his hand came on Stiles' hand on his member like he was trying to stop him from what he already had done.

Sitles gazed up as in inquiry, "Yes, I have my hand on your dick, this is very weird."

After they'd mutually concluded how utterly _weird_ it was and that was out of the way, Sitles turned his attention directly to the _matter at hand_, aware Derek really had the body of a god, but uncertain if he _could actually go through with this._

He reached with his tongue very tentatively to lick him just at the very tip, he heard Derek gasp, _like he'd stopped caring altogether that he was a dude._

"Well…that's…nice…" Derek said, Sitles licked his lips absently and laughed.

"Yeah?" he asked, suddenly aware he took it as a compliment.

_A/N: So what did you think? A little smutty action, but nothing too crazy yet…More to follow…Would love your thoughts on how the story is going…_


	8. Chapter 8

Chapter 8:

"I'm—getting the hang of this—" Stiles laughed, having pulled out long enough to speak, he licked his lips and went for it again; Derek smiled, but he couldn't maintain composure for long. He couldn't help himself, his hand wandered very gently to Stiles' hair, and Stiles didn't seem to mind; he let him do it without criticism, it occurred to Derek he must like the gesture.

_He was very attentive_. He was careful and elegant, like it didn't matter that he was with a guy—like he'd already mentally consented to that and treated the matter with dignity. _It was curiously humbling, _but it was difficult for Derek to focus on any of that, _it was so fucking good._

"I really love you," he murmured, "you're so cool about this—"

"You'll love me even more in a moment," Stiles said, the member emerged slicked and brilliant from in-between his lips as he pulled out to talk. He took it in again, allowing it to slide very slowly until it pressed on the back of his throat, he heard Derek swear as his hand went tight in his hair.

He knew to be careful with his teeth even without having done this before; he let the member slide at his throat several times before taking it out, _it was very wet in his hand_. Derek muttered incoherent swears, past the point of shame as he whispered to Stiles about _how fucking good he was at that,_ he was giving him little instructions on what he liked better and what he ought to do.

Stiles glanced incredulously, but on seeing Derek's face, his expression faded; _he truly was beautiful at that moment, guy or not._

"Baby—"

The word issued out of its own accord, Stiles rose to his knees and took Derek's face with both hands, hungrily seizing his mouth.

_He could feel his neglected cock wet against his own pants, on the flat of his abdomen, it was insistent and hot; he'd almost stopped caring he was with a guy too._

There came Derek's strong arms all around him, _he knew his touch well,_ they fell gracelessly on the mattress—

—_then it was sex with clothes on._ They kissed relentlessly, with all the frustration and hunger that everyone saw but they, themselves;

"F—fuck—"

Derek muttered, he'd pressed himself against him hard enough the bed frame clumsily knocked on that wall, _they were beyond the point of caring about that;_ soon both their hands scrambled at Stiles' belt, they'd got his pants somewhere around mid-thigh, and far from awkward embarrassment Stiles was now openly asking Derek to _do it._

"What, take you in my mouth?" Derek breathed, and Stiles cursed and muttered, "yes—"

There was no _weirdness_ this time; he went for it without further questions, Stiles accommodated helpfully, there came the feathery slide of Derek's hair on his thighs.

"Oh—,"

"Like this?"

"—please—,"

Stiles' hand was infinitely gentle in Derek's hair, like it were a thing of virginal chastity, childlike affection and innocent love, because even while they both were in their, _this they'd never done before._

_This, with another guy._

It went from something ridiculous and uncomfortable to the most intimate sort of trust, _they were the exception that they each would make,_ _entirely vulnerable and tender. _

There issued wet, profane sounds as Derek had at him, large hands strong on Stiles' hips, and even though he'd never done this, _he wanted to have him so fucking bad._

He wanted to _take care of him_, to console him about things that required no consolation, for the first time in his life he felt pitiful that he _hadn't a clue what to do with a dude._

"You're doing great," Stiles reassured him without being promoted, his voice came brittle and soft, one hand paternal in Derek's hair; _he could barely speak between breaths._

There came the most delicate, fragile sort of heartache; "It's alright," Stiles gently said, "you've always been mine."

_A/N: So what do you think? Getting a little hot and heavy? I'll try to update A.S.A.P._


	9. Chapter 9

Chapter 9:

White paint on the ceiling, the circular ring of the light fixture, three small bulbs; frayed strands of delicate cobweb barely visible at one side. Stiles closed his eyes, but there still were visual imprints of orange and red in shape of the lights, he'd never noticed there were there before.

He propped himself by one elbow, other hand kind of in Derek's hair, there was a smile on his lips even as he fought for composure; they regarded each other knowingly, still inwardly stunned but having come to terms with the state of affairs.

"That was nice, like that—"

Stiles said Derek watched him from under the fall of his hair; his eyelashes gave him the appearance of someone who'd been perpetually crying.

"You like this?" he asked, Stiles grinned through fast inspiration, the delicate outline of ribs visible at his chest. Derek kept trying to brush his hair behind one ear and it kept swinging in his face, Stiles leaned forth to hold it back; it became harder for them to talk; Derek found there was something unexpectedly endearing in how responsive he'd gotten him, _that it was his doing, he got him like that._

"Faster, please, could you—"

The obscene sound of his hand on him, _you could stop caring about stuff like that when you're hot enough;_ Stiles could feel warm rivulets of fluid stream down his skin, frustration had him press his hips against Derek like he couldn't help it, he whispered, "Please don't stop—"

He wasn't loud when he came; he told them shortly before,

"I'm gonna cu—"

Derek momentarily panicked, Stiles' hand came on his member to pull it out of his mouth but Derek kept it in deliberately.

"Oh, sh—I'm sorry—" Stiles said between breaths, he'd meant to come in his hand, and it was tremendously embarrassing, this. Derek had stilled, like he was entirely traumatized; every guy had tasted himself a bit at some point, _but this was really a lot, and it was awful_. He appeared stunned by the awareness _he had it in his month _and actually swallowed it, and then appeared even more stunned than before.

Stiles was laughing silently into one hand, completely embarrassed, eyes closed; he shook his head apologetically and held out his hand, "I'm really sorry man, I…you alright…?"

Derek was grinning as well, eyebrows rose in amusement as he wiped at his mouth with the back of one hand. "Shit," he laughed, "I've got so…I'm wet all over my face…"

"I tried to pull out, you just—"

"Nooo, couldn't have you pulling out just before, it's nicer when…"

_Of course he was thinking from the perspective of receiving head._ It occurred to him too late _not every guy_ _is used to the same sort of experience,_ and he smiled at Stiles as though offended personally, "You would have made me pull out…!" he said, and it sounded a lot worse than he'd intended.

"Oh…fuck!" he murmured after that, then waved his hands all around, "Alright, forget that, forget I said—" He was pained with laughter, entirely flushed in the face.

"I'd have made you pull out…?" Stiles wasn't going to let that go, he was grinning like he'd just heard Othello or Hamlet were having a tennis match outside their window. "Just what are we talking about?"

"There is no answer to that question that wouldn't sound bad!"

"Really, though, you alright? You need some water?"

"You know, I think I do," Derek said conclusively, making the most _horrible_ face as he got off the bed, like he'd just then remembered how little he liked the taste.

"Now that is _impolite_," Stiles grinned, he was most of the way into his boxers and got off the bed to pull them up, then followed Derek to the kitchen. They sat at the table with a couple of sodas, it occurred to Stiles that Derek's hair had really got quite disheveled; he'd actually been very good to him.

"Thank you, by the way, I've not said anything, it was very nice."

Derek sat back contentedly with his drink, one hand crossed over his naked chest, his smiled toothily. "Naaaaah, it was fun," he said honestly, "not sure I can feel my lips anymore…" he tentatively fingered his bottom lip, which still was somewhat red and inflamed from how hard he'd been pressing his teeth against it.

He wasn't gonna say _you owe me_ or _what the hell were you thinking _or _ I'm never doing this again;_ he set the can down on the table and thoughtfully traced lines in the frost with his thumb.

"Does it really taste that bad?" Stiles asked.

Derek looked up; he appeared on the verge of an answer, thought better of it, then shook his head, "Noo…not that bad…I was surprised…"

Stiles smiled knowingly. "It _was_ that bad, wasn't it."

"Fucking awful."

"Come on. I'll do it to you."

Derek laughed loudly, one finger tracing the circular top of the can. "That eager to find out exactly _how bad?_"

"Maybe I'll like it."

"You'd act like you did, wouldn't you."

"Maybe I'll like it and act like I didn't, then you'll never know."

"Oh, I'll know," Derek winked, "you can't hide anything from me."

"That's true."

_A/N: A little quid pro quo action going on. What will happen next?_


	10. Chapter 10

Chapter 10:

"Ok, so take this off—"

"I can't while you're—"

"Not like that. _All_ the way off—"

"HEY…! Ok, alright, hold your horses—"

"Good, like that."

"Ow—what's—"

"Keys."

Stiles picked his keychain up from the mattress, where it must've fallen before; he leaned carefully over to the bedside table to place it there, then remained on his knees, regarding Derek like he was trying mentally to plan how they ought to be positioned.

"Scoot a bit this way," he said, rubbing his mouth, motioning with one hand.

"Like this?"

"Yeah, that's good."

He moved back between Derek's knees, bent part of the way forth, met his gaze; they both laughed. Stiles pointed one finger and said, "Shut. Up."

Derek lifted both hands as a peace offering, _I haven't said anything._

Stiles hesitated; looked up, smiled, glanced back down; got his hand on his dick tentatively. Derek regarded him childlike, remembering _not to say anything_. Stiles' fingers moved along the smooth surface with experimental curiosity, "Not so bad is it," he said softly, part to himself.

"Like this," Derek said, he got his hand on Stiles' and was starting to direct him, but Stiles looked up, unamused. "Don't tell me what to…" he tapped his hand away. "Like this. Right? Like this."

Derek smiled broadly, eyes shut, rapidly nodding, He gave him a thumbs-up. "Perfect."

Stiles laughed. "See. I know what to do."

_He was embarrassed as soon as he said it; was it really something in which to take pride…?_

There was shameless anticipation in Derek's eyes; _he wanted him to do it._ That was the thing about getting head, _it was something you really never turned down._ Like you'd put off worrying about the fact that it was a dude until _later._

He sighed with tremendous relief when finally Stiles got it in his mouth, he whispered, _thank you_, his reaction was curiously flattering. "I owe you, don't I," Stiles said when he took it back out, "I stopped last time."

"It's alright," Derek said, impatient to have him go back to it. They both went quiet after that, Derek didn't wish to say anything that might make him stop; they still glimpsed at one another shyly from time to time, Stiles aware of being watched, Derek smiled and silently mouthed, _go on._

Stiles found that his lips hurt. His hand had got tired from stroking him all the while, it became repetitive after some time _and he just wished he would cum already._ He wondered if this was what women went through when they did this, and realized with a bout of exasperation now he's have to feel bad about that.

_No, that wasn't right_. Surely there was some appeal to it, at least at first, before it because so mind-numbingly repetitive? Surely he wasn't meant to appear like he was tired? On glancing up, he was that Derek _didn't seem to mind;_ he was having a great time, it appeared, it made him smile.

It occurred to him he'd become more bothered by the fact that it was dull than by actually _giving head to another guy;_ curiously enough, that didn't really bother him anymore. _I shouldn't feel this way, he was really nice to me. He didn't complain, until that last part._

Inevitably he began feeling that bout of terror, as well: even after all the talk about _liking it_, not that it approached he found himself dreading the inevitable conclusion, but was determined to be a good sport about it. _But Derek said it was awful, _he really wasn't looking forward to that.

_No. He was going to be cool about this. He was going to make him fucking love it and tell him how good he was after, and Stiles would triumph by giving the impeccable impression that it wasn't bad at all – no matter how vile it actually tasted._

He wondered if it was taking so long because he was a guy, and it was turn off; _so like Stiles to think he could possibly be a turn off to anyone._

No, here was no room for discouragement, he kept going long after his lips had got raw and inflamed and his jaw hurt from being open so long; he was so vastly relieved when Derek finally came he was much less horrified than he'd expect. It was very liquid and hot and quite bitter, but he didn't pull out; he sucked him completely dry like he were making a point, then he crawled toward him and motioned _come here_ with one hand.

Derek was lain merrily on his back, eyes closed, still catching his breath, he was patting Stiles weakly on the arm for a job well done. When he opened his eyes, he smiled and probably meant to give him some sort of praise when he saw Stiles move closer to kiss him. He tilted his head up to return the kiss, blissfully unaware of what was to follow; Stiles got both hands on his cheeks and kissed him hard, the fluid glittering hot between them, streaming in slick rivulets down their chins.

"Eugh…" Derek immediately moved away, reaching to wipe his mouth and staring like he'd been horribly deceived.

Stiles was having a field day, _this was good._ This was, hands down, the best expression he'd ever seen Derek make, he remained where he was with one finger pointed, laughing so hard he'd nearly got tears in his eyes.

Derek was laughing too, still wiping his tongue, muttering swears like they formed complete sentences.

"That's disgusting," he said, "why would you do that?!"

Stiles, who was really just glad he'd got him to finish, was determined to make it seem like it wasn't bad at all. He composed himself into the most elegant and thoughtful expression and said without breaking character, "It was so good I wanted to share."

"Very thoughtful," Derek said, "_you wanted to share," _he tackled him and pulled him close, wiping at the fluid still streaming down the corner of his mouth with one finger, then deliberately got it in past Stiles' lips; they were play fighting now. They were laughing and struggling for dominance, Stiles with his eyes tightly shut and hands uselessly batting, "Thought you'd appreciate it! You mean you don't like it?!"

"Quite a surprise, isn't it," Derek laughed, "I should've known."

"You gonna tell Kate on me?"

"You'd better believe I'm gonna tell here, you little fucker!"

Stiles was fully enjoying his reaction; it was orders of magnitude better than he'd expected. "Careful, she might get ideas."

"You're both plotting against me!"

"We'll like a dynamic duo."

"That figures—,"

"We're gonna get matching costumes."

"You got the colors picked out and everything?"

"Had a little disagreement, she wanted green, I said green always looks stupid—"

"It does, doesn't it?"

Stiles had long since given up the fight; he was lain willingly on his back beneath Derek, and whatever response he might have had never came. When they kissed it came completely natural, he laughed with simple affection when Derek had at his neck, _it tickled._

"Move, you're heavy," he said, smiling wide like meant _let's never go to sleep._


	11. Chapter 11

Chapter 11:

The next morning, like every morning, Stiles' alarm went off at 5:15am. He found himself pressed uncomfortably to the wall, wearing only his boxers, and the journey out of bed would require treading somehow over Derek.

Derek, who had said he's wanted to join in on his runs, and who ought to be woken up, except Stiles wanted to get ready first. He stretched one arm carefully over him to reach for his phone, by Derek got to it first; he picked it up, squinted against the bright light, and fumbled two times before managing to hit _dismiss_.

"You're awake," Stiles helpfully informed him, and Derek murmured incoherently in response; he slumped back on the bed after placing the phone on the bedside table, showing little promise where jogging was concerned.

"Right…" Stiles said, slowly proceeding to maneuver one of his legs over him, delicately placing his hands at his side on the mattress, he stumbled gracelessly on trying to access the floor. Derek watched as he rubbed his hands on his arms to warm up, unaccustomed to wearing so little to sleep; he was aware he should jog with him, but his body felt like lead and the air seemed very cold outside the blankets.

"Wake me up when you're done in there," he murmured, Stiles was at his dresser and picking out clothes. "You sure?" he asked, and Derek slurred back, "I just need to mmph…"

He finally made his way into the bathroom when Stiles was brushing his teeth, eyes squinted, hair in a mess. "Don't know how you do this every morning," he said, reaching for his toothbrush, yawning while putting the toothpaste on. _Completely naked and shivering._

Stiles, who was dressed, regarded him momentarily and chuckled around his toothbrush, "I think you should put something on."

"Yeah, yeah, fuck you."

The run had done them both good; they were amicable on their return, wide awake, scrambling in the kitchen to salvage whatever partly-prepared food might still make for a reasonable meal that evening. They had just enough time to shower and dress before heading out, and found themselves consumed with the work of the day to think of anything else; they returned home exhausted at the end of the day, and collapsed in front of the TV. Stiles passed out on the couch with his legs hung awkwardly off the armrest.

Derek had almost forgot to tell Kate about what they'd done, he commented on it matter-of-factly, like it were a backyard football game or an argument about the remote; he'd only remembered to be excited about it when she was, _but he was really really tired_, and Stiles was fast asleep in the living room, so he couldn't tell her his part.

She asked Derek what Stiles was like naked, _how big it was, whether or not he was cut or uncut,_ he knew Stiles was aware he thought so.

It would be another two weeks, before they'd tried anything again; it was raining really hard outside, a Saturday afternoon that felt more like evening, Derek was sat at the kitchen table filling out paperwork.

"What do you wanna do for dinner?" Stiles asked from the living room, he was checking fantasy football scores on his phone.

"Don't know," Derek replied, chewing on the end of his pen while he read through these forms. "Is there any chicken left?"

"I think there might be some."

Several minutes passed as they each went back to what they were doing before.

"Do you wanna do it again?" Derek asked spontaneously.

"Do what again?"

"You know…_it…"_

"Oh…you wanna do _it…"_

"Well you know. It _has_ been a while, hasn't it?"

"What's 37 divided by 12?" Derek was still filling out forms, mouthing numbers as he did the calculation in his head. After a moment, he added, "Yeah, it's been, what? A week? Two weeks?"

"Two weeks, yeah. Poor Kate."

"Poor, poor Kate."

"Waiting so patiently while we take our sweet time."

"How _does _she manage?"

They had meant to _fuck_ properly two weeks before, but they'd been more overwhelmed than they expected by the _experimenting_ they'd done, and the reality of what _fucking a guy_ really meant was daunting. Kissing and fooling around was one thing, but there was immense social stigma about actually having another guy's dick inside you. _That was too much._

They each tried to time if they could actually _do it_, and felt an aversion to the idea straight away. _But what if it felt really good? Like, what if it stopped mattering that you had some guy's dick up your ass, and it just felt really good?_

_But could they actually do it?_

"If you think you're on top, you better think again," Stiles said without looking up from his phone, "Just because everybody seems to think that…"

Derek's brow furrowed; "I…wasn't thinking that…" he murmured onto the end of his pen, he added quietly, "I also wasn't not thinking that…"

Of course, they wanted to be _tolerant_. They wanted to be open-minded, but when faced with the reality of it, neither of them could imagine actually _taking it._

"Maybe we should just forget the whole thing," Stiles said.

"Yeah, can't really imagine going through with that."

"I kind of want to, though."

"Well, make up your fucking mind."

"Alright; let's just forget. No, let's—_argh, I don't know…!_"

Derek was almost compelled to give up and say he'd be willing to _take it,_ but he couldn't bring himself to actually _offer._

"Can't we just do what we did before and that's that?" he asked; be he knew they were both as curious as they were opposed.

"If it was like—" Stiles began to theorize, now lain on the couch with his hands midair to demonstrate, "—like a woman, right, with a strap-on…"

"AHH! Shut up…!

"No, listen, listen—and it was—but it's a _woman_, right? Would that be so bad?"

"Yes! Or—I don't know…!"

Derek laughed and held his head like it hurt from thinking too much.

"I don't think I would mind," Stiles said, arms crossed over his chest, deep in thought.

"No! That's—alright, maybe…" Derek was squinting, trying to picture it.

"That's weird, isn't it? Why is that alright, but with a dude—"

"Be—cause—!" Derek sputtered, still laughing; he was frustrated because it was too difficult of a mental exercise. _"Because it's a dude…"_

"Right, you don't want to hear a guy tell you all that stuff—you know, like…"

"Like to bend over."

They laughed, because they spoke at the same time.

"Right, or, like—" Stiles made a ridiculous effeminate voice, "_Relax, baby."_

They both started laughing at that.

"Relax, baby?" Derek asked.

"Yeah, I don't know!"

"But from a woman, it wouldn't be so bad."

"Oh, we are so…"

"So insecure to think this way?"

"You know what? You're right. That shouldn't matter, we're just being a couple of babies."

Stiles sat up conclusively. "It shouldn't matter. Men are beautiful, and—there, I said it—as we're probably missing out on—on—"

"Yeah who knows…what we're missing out on…"

"Just because we're so…"

"Because we're being so insecure."

Several moments passed in silence; the clock ticking nearby sounded unnervingly loud.

"So you're ok with me being—you know—_on top_" Derek said, murmuring the last two words like they alone sequestered then in exhibit _gay_.

Stiles glanced incredulously; "Unbelievable," he laughed, "after all that…!"

"We take turns," Derek finally said, "but I go first."

"Fine."

They were genuinely frightened; Stiles watched as Derek made his way to the thermostat. "I'm turning it up, 'cause…it'll be pretty cold once we…"

…_take off our clothes._

Stiles nodded in a desperate attempt to silence him before he _explained._

"Right. Right, good call…"

There was immense emptiness in the room as they stood across from each other, some yards apart, as though waiting from something to _happen._ _They both almost wished Kate was there to direct them specifically, so it would be her doing and they couldn't be blamed._

"Right, no need to stall, nothing you haven't seen before," Derek said as he began to pull off his shirt. Stiles smiled, he nodded and pointed one finger. "That's true," he didn't stop to think out just how much each of them would actually _need to take off_, because that would have them imagine too graphically the explicit mechanics of this sort of thing.

_It was immensely tempting to call the whole thing off. To point out the almost suffocating awareness this was ridiculous and absurd, but they forced themselves through it._

"Ok. You should—" Derek spoke, indicating the couch. "Yeah. I'll just—" Stiles said cooperative, like an adolescent boy instructed on the sequence of obstacles with which he must contend to prize the holy grail of intimacy. He arranged his various limbs into his best approximation of what such a thing probably required, lain on his back, the surrounding layout of the room almost betraying in its casual familiarity. _Like this was business as usual._

"Right," Derek said conclusively, he walked briskly to the couch and stopped in a moment of logistical planning, then he reached for Stiles' ankles, because that was the part of him that least lent itself to implication.

His first thought was that Stiles had quite nice legs; then, immediately after, he decided that he should not think such a thing, _especially_ under these fragile circumstances, when their sole salvation was the insistence _they weren't actually attracted to each other._

Stiles watched him try to decide what to do, he smiled apologetically and said, "This is going to be very profane, don't think less of me—"

He got one ankle on the backrest, the other on the floor, clearly fighting back embarrassment, he laughed and motioned with his chin for Derek to _come on._

"Ok." Derek said, he raised his eyebrows and grinned. "Thanks," he knelt on the floor beside the couch with far too much gentleness.

This was just so _real._

He got his hands on Stiles' thighs, aware that they felt unexpectedly _human_, and that _human_ felt just as nice when it was _male_, so long as you were allowed to believe he was yours.

_Then the fucking phone rang._

"Don't." Stiles said bravely, finger pointed at Derek. _It would be too easy to use that as an excuse to back out._ It kept ringing and ringing, they both were distracted and it gave them the courage somehow; Stiles got his hand on the back of Derek's head and mercifully pressed him down.

_Insistently, so it would be solely his own doing without question._

It gave Derek a wonderfully liberating moment of aggravation, when he could justifiably become upset, and blame Stiles for forcing him crudely, _he felt eternally grateful._

_The phone was still ringing._ It was someone from the retreat and now they were leaving a message on the machine, complete with enunciating every digit of a phone number, _twice,_ and inane afterthoughts at the end.

"Ignore it," Stiles insisted, like he were instructing him on how to ride a bicycle or on the steps to a dance, curiously confident because _one of them had to be._

_He almost forgot this was meant to feel good, until he felt his tongue on his entrance._

He stilled at once, every part of him frozen, and stared at Derek with utter disbelief.

"That…is really good," he stammered, like his own words wounded too absurd to accept, like despite himself he was forced to surrender to something too blatant to deny.

Unexpectedly, Derek found himself somehow flattered, and somehow curious; he tried to meet Stiles' gaze from partway beneath his legs, boyishly smiling, they both chuckled with embarrassment.

"You like that?" he asked with genuine, innocent intrigue, and Stiles smiled; his eye glittered with _goodness_ of heart. "Yeah," he said, a little shy. "Yeah, I…could you do that some more?"

_Just like that, it became normal and understandable and comfortable,_ like an unspoken agreement that made them wonder if all the reluctance had been necessary.

None of it would have been so daunting if they could be convinced they weren't _supposed_ to be against it.

_A/N: Ok so now we're getting somewhere. I'll try to update as soon as possible. Tell me what you think._


	12. Chapter 12

_Disclaimer: I do not own Teen Wolf or the characters. I just like them._

Chapter 12:

Stiles had gone completely quiet; he was self-conscious, _but it was too good to ask Derek to stop. He wondered why no one had done this to him before, you didn't need to like guys for this. _

He smiled wildly, eyes closed, fingers clutching the upholstery, and let out a breathy laugh, "I'm really indebted to you now, aren't I?" He could feel Derek grinning and cursing under his breath.

_Why can't we just do stuff like this? Why does it have to be actually having his dick inside me?_

It sounded too ridiculous to think of. Were they just stalling? Have they gotten cold feet and unknowingly changed their minds?

_If he were a woman, he'd let her. A woman with a strap-on, he'd let her because he wasn't so insecure. He'd let her try what she wanted, then he'd smile with vast amusement like he were challenging her to do worse._

_He'd joke about it and play to whatever fantasy she had._

…so what's the big deal now…

Were they still just playing to Kate's fantasy, or were they using that to justify their own curiosity?

"How do we…how do we do this…?" Stiles asked, still breathless, sounding more strained than he'd meant to.

Derek was caught off guard; he slowly unraveled himself partway from beneath his legs, completely wet around the mouth, he absently licked his lips.

"What?"

Stiles' hands were still tight on the cushions; he flushed to see him this way.

"I mean…do you just…you know…are you just gonna do it?"

Derek could feel a familiar sense of dread threaten at the back of his mind; he paused, swiping his mouth with the back of his hand.

_He's really serious about doing this._

He struggled not to treat it as something ridiculous, the temptation to do so was almost too great.

"Don't we—need something like…like lotion…?" He murmured the last two words like they were incontestable evidence they weren't kidding.

_It sounded utterly ridiculous, though. Like he were making fun or something, or imitating a caricature. _

Stiles' heart skipped a beat; he swallowed and fought for composure, slowly lowering his legs from the position before. "I think we've got some in the other room," he said, it occurred to him it really had got warm in the room with the thermostat turned up. His legs felt numb from being held in stretched positions for so long, he was reminded of a yoga training he did a long time ago and wondered about being out of practice.

_Strange thing to think about at a time like this._

He caught a glimpse of himself in the bathroom mirror when they got there, checked out his stubble, started fixing his hair—things that happen second nature when you notice your reflection. _He still felt his inner thighs wet._

_This is how you looked on your last night before taking it from a guy,_ he thought, and he'd never forget that moment.

Derek was rummaging through the cabinet, carefully laying out unopened bottles of shampoo, then finally emerged with a bottle of hand lotion.

He held it up like a sign of victory, grinned, raised his eyebrows, and Stiles smiled in return, _like he didn't feel incredibly silly._

The light felt intense when he lay on the bed, _how familiar,_ he remembered from what they'd done before; _it felt like being on an examination table,_ and the wet sound of lotion as Derek poured it in his hand didn't help. _Like the unpleasant wait, just before a prostate exam._

He watched Derek's large hands as they slicked the lotion over his dick, and for a moment, he felt annoyed with him, like had the easier job and it wasn't fair; trying to remind himself they'd decided to take turns was a little consolation.

It occurred to him that Derek was taking his time, _he was hesitant too,_ because even if he _did_ have the easier job, once they'd done this, there was no going back.

_What the hell are we doing? Why are we doing this?!_

Whatever words he had in regard never came. Derek half-smiled as in apology, not appearing very happy, he wanted to say _it's for Kate,_ but it would be too ugly of a lie; he couldn't blame her for what they had decided.

"Oh, come here," Stiles sighed, he leaned up towards him and took his face in both hands. He kissed his lips, but it was little consolation to either of them; Derek was looking downward, then met his gaze, they scanned each other's eyes. Stiles kissed him again, so softly he barely touched him at all, he could fell him lightly kiss back—then he kissed his forehead, eyes closed and said, "we want to do this."

Derek smiled, they both laughed quietly, like a couple of kids experimenting while their parents weren't at home.

"You're awesome," Derek said, "You really are a great guy."

There came the cumbersome maneuver of limbs as he climbed over him, the awkward feel of sliding flesh and logistical consideration of where your legs and arms go, a graceless tangle that's really _too close_ and _too uncomfortable_; the light from the ceiling fan was obscured by Derek's shoulder as he was _fucking a guy._

Derek was trying to get one hand between them and they both had to shift. Stiles felt somehow trapped. _It was so much worse than a prostate exam._

Worst of all was the cold, wet feel of lotion when his dick slid inadvertently on Stiles' inner thigh, it seemed ridiculous he was _actually going to try to get in him._

Derek glimpsed between them, he got his dick against the small opening and murmured, "Move your legs apart more."

"I—there's no room, move your…ow, you're on my leg—"

"Sorry—"

"—this better?"

"A bit more."

Stiles rolled his eyes, "Now?"

"Yeah, that's fine."

Stiles stilled when he felt him press there again. "Ok, go," he said audibly for composure.

_It felt so cold and wet._

_Then he really pressed in._

Stiles' eyes went big, he inhaled quickly and said, "Ok, stop…stop…"

He did, he hadn't even got the head entirely in. Stiles wove his arms out from between the tangle of limbs they were in and rubbed hopelessly at his eyes. "Ok, just—just give me a moment—ok—try again—"

"You sure? I don't wanna like…you look miserable."

"No, it's fine, just—_I can do this."_

Derek appeared unconvinced; "You look like you're in pain."

"A little yeah," Stiles laughed. "It's fine, nothing too terrible."

"You sure?"

"I already said, just do it—"

"Sorry."

Stiles braced himself for the next go.

The tapping sound of rain outside, leaves of ivy swaying against the window, he held his breath and endured it as long as he could before asking Derek to stop again.

"How far is it in?" he asked, eyes closed, hands tight on the sheets.

"About an inch."

"Fuck! Is that all?!"

"Yeah"

"Shit!"

"Ok, let's stop," Derek said, trying to make him see reason; Stiles appeared decidedly dissatisfied, like he was a mark of his personal failure—but finally consented.

"Alright. Ok."

He didn't realize Derek's thighs were pressed up on his until he moved back, there was physical relief and an odd sense of _back to normal_ when he disentangled himself from above Stiles.

He watched Derek walk nakedly toward the bathroom, there came the sound of water. _He must be getting the lotion off._

Stiles remained on his back, one leg bent, arm shielding his eyes from the light. Trying to get his head around what they'd done. _Did this count as sex with a guy? Did it mean they were never meant to do this in the first place, and that was why it was so impossible?_

He raised his eyes to hear Derek approach, still disrobed, leaned at the bedside and mussed Stiles' hair. "Wasn't so great, was it?" he asked with a little smile.

Stiles grinned. "Nah," he said softly, "Not really."

"Not like when I ate you out."

Stiles stared in a moment of shock; he chuckled and rubbed hard at his eyes. _"Oh…my…God…!"_

They both laughed.

"No…that was great," Stiles murmured, still laughing, both hands still on his face. "God…listen to me."

"We don't have to do this if it hurts, there's no reason," Derek said. Stiles considered it for a few moments. He got his arm over his eyes against the light again and regarded Derek from beneath it. "A lot of things hurt the first time, it's just a matter of practice."

"No…no…that's different…I really don't like…"

_They'd fought each other plenty of times in the past. Why did something like this feel sadistic? Because it was only painful for one of them?_

"You do it to me next time," Derek finally said; they felt tremendous compassion for each other, not because it hurt, _but because they had wanted it so much to be good—and it really wasn't._

Derek felt Stiles' hand on his wrist, he pulled him down and got one hand on his cheek, then kissed him slowly.

They remained only millimeters apart, breath ghosting humid in the small space between them. "Well," Stiles laughed quietly, "the worst is behind us, isn't it? We've done the most intimidating part, now there's nothing left to be afraid of."

Derek smiled, his eyes glittered in the light from overhead. "That's right," he said, even though, they knew they were wrong. _The most intimidating part was that they really did love each other, and that was the dangerous ground that came with permission to try._

Not because of Kate, who was completely supportive in every way—but because if you slept with a guy, and you _loved _him, there was no safe detachment from how _gay_ that was.

_And they just didn't want to see themselves that way._

_A/N: Thanks for all the views and the follows and the comments. I was starting to give up on the story but seeing that it's starting to catch on I'll continue. Keep the comments coming. _


	13. Chapter 13

Chapter 13:

"It…was…"

"It was what? Go on already…!"

Kate's voice was especially pronounced when she was impatient; she was on her way out of the house when Derek called, but stilled in her tracks on hearing he and Stiles _did it._

_What, like really did it? Like—you know—did it…?_

The Derek wasn't exactly certain; _did that count as doing it?_

He found himself oddly enthusiastic to bring it up, like it was every bit as exciting to talk about as it was utterly humiliating.

She wanted to be sure she heard right, that she wasn't jumping to conclusions, _before she let it become her big friends for the year._

_No, they really did it._ And now Derek wasn't quite answering _how it was._

She already had visions of Derek slamming Stiles on the mattress, the two of them impatiently ripping at each other's clothes and kissing relentlessly, muttering between breaths about _why did we wait this long?_

Nah, she knew it couldn't be like that. _But just the face they really did it was enough._

"It…wasn't…exactly great," Derek finally said, and Kate frowned. She didn't want to hear conclusive proof that her fantasy held _no legitimate basis_; she was ready to defend it, with fully elucidated arguments on why she won't be convinced they _didn't want to._

"You slept with Stiles and it wasn't _that great…_?" She asked like they very concept defied all logic.

"I heard that," Stiles laughed from the other end of the couch, "I'm perplexed myself."

"Fuck, he's right here?" Kate gasped, fighting embarrassment; she snickered and called _hi_ to him.

"She says hi," Derek said, and Stiles replied, "Yeah, I heard her. Hello…!"

"She wants to know how it could have been bad."

"Yeah, why _was it_ bad?"

Now both Derek and Stiles went into deep speculation, humming while rubbing at their mouths, looking at each other for the best explanation.

"Think we don't really know what we're doing," Stiles said after some time, _and it was the cutest thing Kate had ever heard._ "You don't know what you're doing?" She asked, sounding very confused, "What do you mean you _don't know?!"_

"This is embarrassing," Stiles murmured to Derek.

_No, that was the cutest thing she ever heard._

"You should be here to instruct us," Derek told her and even Stiles agreed that would be a good idea.

Stiles could hear her laugh hopefully, like she was saying, _don't get my hopes up._ She promised she could tell them _exactly_ what to do if they wanted. _She could draw complete diagrams._

They didn't mind so much since it was _for her. _They didn't mind if it became something _sexy _and _appealing, _or even _empowering,_ instead of disgusting and ridiculous. They told her in intimate detail everything that transpired, all the embarrassing parts they wanted to forget, they argued with each other loudly about _exactly how it went down._

"That's not what happened. I'll tell her what happened," Stiles said, trying to take the phone from Derek; he managed to get it close to his ear while Derek was still holding it and trying playfully to pull it away.

"I don't know how you manage with him, Kate," Stiles said, all cordially and pleasant manners, "your boyfriend…is…colossal…!"

She was nearly in tears laughing; she went on about how she was _fanning herself._

"He is, isn't he…!" She said; Derek was actually flushing.

"But doesn't it hurt?" Stiles continued, and now Derek finally pulled the phone away, grinning big, playfully shoving Stiles away. "Give me that," he said, "you've had your fun…talking about my…attributes…"

"Your _attributes_. Very nice attributes."

"Fuck you!" Derek said pleasantly, still red in the face.

He went on to tell her how they agreed to switch for the next time. "No…really?" She asked, like at first she couldn't envision it, but became even more intrigued the more she thought of it. "Oh, _now_ I'm sorry I can't be there to watch!"

"To watch me be humiliated?"

"Oh, it's about humiliation now is it…!" Stiles cried, "Is that what it is?"

"No…!No, no…not like that…"

They spent the next half hour discussing it with her on the phone, _and she had plenty of ideas._ Ideas that sounded more like fantasies than anything they had imagined doing, to the point where they'd stopped taking her seriously and were listening for sheer entertainment value.

"Should I be writing this down?" Stiles asked, like he was really about to get a pen and a notepad, "was that a bare-handed spanking or more like you know…with a belt…?"

"I never said that! Where's he getting that..!" She laughed.

She did give them some helpful advice, but was also reluctant to push them _too_ much she didn't want them to feel pressured and try to distance themselves from the whole thing.

"Do you know the amount of _pain_ I'm about to endure for you?" Derek asked jokingly, and Stiles shuffled, "It's not _that_ painful…! Stop being such…"

"Such a baby…!" Kate interjected, and Derek laughed, "Yeah I know I'm being a big baby."

"Yeah, I went through it, now man up!"

"That's right," Derek said, comically flexing his muscles, _but it was an unintentionally realistic reminder of how built he really was._

"Jesus," Stiles laughed, reaching to feel his arm, "you really are so…"

"Are you two starting in there?' Kate asked, "Should I let you go at it?"

"No!"

"No, no, nothing like that…"

"No, Derek was just…he was…flexing his biceps…"

"Oooh…yes he's pretty hot!" Kate laughed.

"Don't let it go to his head," Stiles grinned and Derek assured them _he would never._

"It's like you're talking about me…right in front of me," he said cutely embarrassed.

"Only good things," Stiles assured him, and Kate added, "yeah, only good things…"

They hung up on a good note and in much better spirits; she had somehow made them feel better about the whole thing.

Stiles observed as Derek sorted his phone, checking email quickly before placing it down on the coffee table. He started getting up after that, but Stiles tugged him briskly by the wrist, they snickered knowingly as they fell on the couch without grace.

"You are freaking heavy," Stiles said against his lips, "how much do you weigh? A million pounds?"

"Yeah, says the guy who pulled me down…!"

"I did pull you down, didn't I?" he could tell Derek was trying not to put his weight on him after that.

_He was determined he was gonna do this well. Like a personal challenge. Like that time he went down on Derek and made it his mission to appear like he'd fully enjoyed every minute, even though it was dull to do—he quite thoroughly succeeded in making it seem pleasant._

That's what he'd do now. He'd _man up_ and actively look up how this was meant to be done, _without shame, and—"_

_No, could he really do that?_ How it felt for him the day before, that was bad because _the whole thing was weird._ Because, it occurred to him, now, _it was probably an acquired taste_. There was probably no way to make it anything but _strange _the first few times, and it would be unnatural to pretend to do it otherwise: he and Derek know each other too well to fool each other in regard. All the romantic stuff he'dlearned through life to charm and enchant women just wasn't relevant here, and he'd just have to hope he wasn't going to screw it up too bad.

"Stay in my bed tonight," he asked, and Derek smiled against him, "Yeah, we're starting to get used to that…"

_A/N: What's gonna happen next? I'm really enjoying writing this so I think I'll have at least 5 or 6 more chapters in me, maybe more. Thanks for the love and I'll try to update regularly. _


	14. Chapter 14

_So this one will be a long winded one. I'm gonna break it up. Hang in there…_

_Disclaimer: I don't own Teen Wolf or its characters. I just like them _

Chapter 14:

If Stiles had been dating a woman, he'd have no trouble with this; he'd have a tried and true, time-tested formula, he'd got seduction down to an art form. Fact of the matter was, however, it didn't _really_ have to do with the fact Derek was a guy, but that they knew each other inside and out _like true brothers,_ and there was no room to charm or seduce or intrigue. If he'd tried to pull the charm act on Derek, it would be laughable, the way your brother would laugh at you for trying to come off _mysterious and alluring._

Ad it were, he found himself for once without any sort of technique, and the very implication he'd _need _one was ridiculous, _why would he need to charm him?_ They weren't romantically involved; they were _best friends_ and _nothing beyond that._

_They loved each other like brothers._

They were straight, and they liked women, and this whole thing had gone too fucking far.

So they _experimented_ a little, was it really a big deal…? It wasn't _that_ unusual, was it? Didn't you hear about that all the time, to guys jerking off together, comparing sizes or what have you, _didn't brothers do that…?_

Besides, you didn't need to be gay to understand the universally-accepted fact that Derek Hale was built like a god, there was no shame in admitting he was sexy, trying to deny that would reflect some sort of insecurity, _he wasn't going to take it back._

He was going to do some blatantly straight thing, like openly flirt with women on the retreat, post something charming on Twitter, maybe talk about his past girlfriends –_vaguely of course, as not to make a public circus of someone else's private life._

It wasn't _just_ insecurity, though; it was the way everyone saw you, and when it came to Stiles and Derek, _a lot of people were watching_. People didn't take something like this lightly; if you were a guy, they classed you as either _straight _or _gay_, and if you're _gay_, then that became _what you are._

You couldn't just be a guy who always liked women, who loved someone who happened to be another guy, without wanting to be called _gay _or _straight_ and having that affect his identity. It wasn't even about the specifics of what you did in bed with another guy, because he'd be far less reluctant to let a woman do a lot of that stuff to him, and then it would be _kinky and fun experimentation_ that was ok because it _didn't change what he was._

Could he honestly say with complete certainty he wasn't _at all_ attracted to him?

Could he honestly say that, if instead of classifying you as _gay-or-straight,_ something like this became an intriguing fetish that women _liked,_ he'd be quite as hesitant about it? _I've not stopped being straight, that was just something I felt like doing._

Even if he'd decided, _fuck that, no one other than Derek and Kate need to know,_ he'd still not really feel at peace about it.

Kate made him feel better, actually. She didn't see it as _gay_, clearly, _she was banging Derek, after all—_and Stiles was relatively certain she'd gladly bang him, too, _if that were cool with everyone._ He and Derek _liked _telling her. They liked being with each other _for her,_ because then it felt _hot._ Then it didn't feel quite so weird to do intimate stuff that people who liked each other did in bed, because it was ok that they were people who liked each other. _More than ok: it was hot, to a woman, and guys who liked women liked making them hot._

He became aware he'd embarrassingly spent far too much mental energy on the matter, _you'd think he were too old to worry about that sort of thing,_ but the fact remained it mattered enough it affected social attributes as a whole.

"I don't know," he finally said to Derek, one hand resting over his mouth while regarding him across the kitchen table, and Derek raised his eyes from the book he was reading. "Don't know what?"

Stiles remained quiet for a while, like he was thinking it over, "Do you suppose I should—_romance _you in some way?"

Derek raised an eyebrow. "What?"

"You know," Stiles continued, now leaning back in his seat, "You don't usually just—_take someone to bed…"_

Derek appeared even more suspicious; he snickered despite himself, certain for the most part there was humor in this. "Wine and dine me, you mean," he said with knowing wisdom, "Definitely, yes, since you'll be doing the, _you know, the dicking…"_

Stiles badly stifled a laugh. "Sorry," he said, trying uselessly to compose himself and finally laughing outright. "That's how it usually works, isn't it?" he said, "_like an access key…"_

Derek finally put down his book, unable to resist laughing along.

"You're fucking serious," he said, grinning as he leaned back and crossed his arms, "After all the stuff we've—everything we've already done—_now _you're trying to figure out if you should _romance_ me…"

"If I ought to—well I should do it _properly_, right, maybe we should have done it _properly_ from the get-go…"

Somewhere mid-laughter, Derek realized he was curiously _flattered _by this, and he wasn't certain why.

Maybe he liked the suggestion you're meant to do it _properly_ regardless of who was doing the _dicking_—

That was, that _being dicked_ wasn't something so horrific you'd expect some form of compensation for the trauma of enduring it, like being _wined and dined._ Like that maybe none of it was so horrific that it couldn't stand legitimate acknowledgement as something beyond _accidental experimentation._

"Quit looking at me like that," he said, and Stiles laughed, aware it was bugging him; he looked at him deliberately more intensely.

Derek laughed; he leaned back in his chair and rubbed hard at his eyes. "If you start _romancing_ me, I swear, I will kill you. You're looking at me like…"

"_Like you're a fucking girl."_

"Yes…!"

"Alright," Stiles clapped both his hands conclusively on his thighs, "got a dress you could put on just real quick?"

"_Suuure_, I'll just, you know, I'll go and slip it on…"

"Awesome, you've got the figure for it."

"Always _so hard to choose which one."_

"They're all just so _pretty."_

"Should I do a few bench presses with it on?"

"You know, that's _exactly_ the thing you should do."

Derek rose to his feet and pointed his finger at Stiles. "I know what you're thinking," he said, shaking his finger, and Stiles raised his eyebrows in pretense of virginal purity, he shrugged and then asked, "Oh, and what's that?"

Derek was partway out of the room, "You're thinking this is this _challenge_ now. You're wondering how you're gonna _pull this off in a way that would work."_

Stiles couldn't help laughing, because he was _so right._ "I wasn't thinking that at all. Where are you getting that? I wasn't thinking that." He was aware it was clear to the both that he was.

Derek was smiling fully; he spoke in a ridiculously shrill voice and held both hands up, twirling his fingers. "_Ooh, I'm gonna find out what his deal is and what he'd end up liking, and it would be like, this surprise, and he'd have to admit he likes it, blah blah and…whatever…"_

Stiles was already getting into this. He grinned toothily and pointed one finger back, "Don't you forget how I'm about to call Kate, right, ask her how to _romance you properly,_ because I was gonna do that, too."

"Oh, _pff,_" Derek rolled his eyes, "maybe if you want to be on the phone for like, six hours…she probably wrote an entire instruction manual, just in case the occasion came up…"

"Sounds useful, I should call her up, but first I'm going running."

They played football that day with a bunch of guys from the retreat, they forgot all about what they were _planning to do._ The rest of the week went by and neither of them tried anything, like things had gone _back to normal._ Like it was surreal they actually _did stuff_, and even more surreal that they'd actually considered giving it legitimate importance. They felt better for it, like they'd managed to overcome a terrible habit like smoking or alcoholism, or cocaine.

But that sense of _weirdness_ was inevitable; you were overwhelmed with what you knew the world would think, and even if you fought to believe none of that mattered, deep down you felt like you were sinning somehow.

"I can't do it Kate, I'm _straight._"

It's what guys said when they wanted to feel _masculine._ It was an excellent thing to say, because it sounded like rational logic and was something with which no one could argue—and, moreover, it sounded _natural._

Except that it had little to do with _natural things_ and much more with social perception.

"…_oh,"_ Kate said, because it wasn't something you could argue against. "But it was so _hot."_

"No it wasn't."

That's something else guys said when they wanted to feel _masculine_: _hot_ isn't something up to option, but that an absolute fact—and _hot_ wasn't a term you were allowed to apply to guys, because that would mean they were vulnerable to scrutiny at their most naked and basic physical form, and that's degrading to anyone: _it was term strictly reserved for evaluation of females._

"You're trying to tell me what I'm _supposed_ to find hot?" She asked, and Derek could tell by the tone of her voice he'd made a mistake; "No, no, of course not," he said, but she could tell he was down; maybe if more people started listening to what a lot of women actually found _hot_, it would become socially legitimate, in maybe a hundred years.

"I was hoping I'd actually get to watch you guys, next time I saw you together."

Despite himself, Derek couldn't help smiling at that. "Yeah, I'll bet you'd like to see that." _Despite everything, it was flattering somehow._

The whole thing had got her down—because it was a reminder not just that her fantasy wasn't real, but that the social stigma against that sort of fantasy was overwhelming, even if it was a pretty common fantasy. And even if Derek didn't tell her what she was _supposed to find hot_, he didn't _need to,_ because what she wasn't _supposed to find hot_ was common knowledge; he was merely reminding her of that.

It was something you and countless other women always felt the need to _apologize_ for and _explain;_ because it was common knowledge it wasn't _supposed to be hot._ Even if countless women wrote about it and talked about it and dreamt about it, because the kind of porn that existed in video form just didn't cater to what women _really_ wanted to see—and then you were _immature_ and _juvenile_ and _nerdy_ because the only way you could get the kind of porn you liked was in writing. No one made porn geared specifically for women, where two guys were going at it, because _no one would watch that, because everyone knew that wasn't what women wanted to see._ Except it was what women fantasized about and wrote about because they couldn't get it anywhere.

A guy saying _I watch porn_ sounded natural and normal, but a woman saying _I read fics_ made her sound like an introverted freak; it was something you whispered about other women, only if you knew for a fact they could relate.

Then you reached a point in life when you told yourself you _outgrew_ it, because the guilt of feeling you liked something immature and nerdy for so many years had become too much—_it was such a relief to stop fighting, and to agree to like what everyone knew you were supposed to like._ Liking sex was only ok when the physical focus was on women, and when you liked men for _higher qualities_ like intellect or competence or success.

Or you said you didn't like sex. Or you said you liked sex where women, not men, were being objectified, because no one was supposed to feel bad for liking that. Because the very social concept of what it meant to be female was grounded in the notion of being something to look at, so you felt good about yourself when you were told that looking at you was pleasant. You felt you became an adult when, like other women, you could be a proper sex object with the prototypical _female form_ that was _sex manifested_—and then you shaved off all your pubic hair so you could look preadolescent. You said it was _your choice_ and it made you _empowered_, but it really was because if you went against all that stuff, eventually you'd always fell somewhere inside you were sinning somehow. And if you went along with all that stuff, you felt the immaterial support and encouragement that existed fundamentally all around. _You live in a community, after all, and even the strongest among us aren't impervious to that._

"I love you," Derek said to Kate, "so much."

_A/N: Like I said this was a long winded one. I broke it up into two chapters. Hang in there. I 'll get to the good stuff soon. Just wanted to add a little drama._


	15. Chapter 15

Chapter 15:

He may have been taller than her, and he may be _really built_, but he was really just a little boy; he spoke to Stiles plainly that day, when they had a moment alone.

"You've not tried anything at all," he said, "the entire week."

Stiles glanced up, it made him chuckle. "After all those warnings," he said, "not to _romance_ you and that!"

But it was just an excuse; they'd both made clear to each other without any words they _didn't want to._

"Yeah, well maybe I was wrong."

He spoke with quiet severity that made Stiles' smile fade; there was something at play here to which he wasn't privy. It occurred to him he may have rejected Derek without every meaning to.

"Come off it, I'm sorry," Stiles said, getting one arm around his back, he leaned over and kissed his cheek, too tired mentally to evaluate if that was a gesture _meant_ _for a girl_ or just _someone you liked_, and it had the unintended effect of breaking tension that had gnawed at them that past week.

"Thanks," Derek said, he tried to smile; _funny how having told Kate it wasn't hot had made him feel like he'd betrayed her._ Like here she'd let down her guard and told him her most intimate fantasy, and without meaning to he said she was wrong for being turned on.

"Let's try again tonight," he said, "I don't mind if you're—" he looked around to be sure no one was listening in, then whispered very softly, "—if you're—on to—"

Stiles turned to him very slowly; he gazed suspiciously, brow furrowed, aware there was something he wasn't being told.

"Did something happen?" he asked, and Derek wanted to answer honestly, but wasn't certain how;

"No, nothing happened. Why?"

He could tell by the look Stiles was giving him that he wasn't buying it.

"_Nothing happened,_" Derek repeated, "maybe I just want to."

Stiles gazed back, dissatisfied; somehow, the way Derek has asked was unexpectedly cheapening. "We need to get back to the retreat," Stiles said, "we'll talk about this later."

Derek regarded him like a hurt puppy, suddenly aware he was being rejected, and that was never supposed to be part of the deal between him and Stiles; he was daft to ever bring it up.

It was even worse that they spent the rest of the day interacting respectfully, and in the evening they each made excuses to go out separately and _do something else._ Derek wasn't certain if he was rejected by his best friend, or if for the first time he was experiencing what it was like to be rejected romantically by a guy; either way, he felt lousy. Suddenly, worrying about whether all that stuff was _gay_ seemed trivial, he felt like he was in trouble with both Kate and Stiles.

He returned that evening to find their suite shrouded in darkness, meaning Stiles still hadn't returned; he padded blindly for the light switch, then proceeded to the kitchen to put groceries away. "_God, it's cold in here,"_ he murmured to himself, like hearing his own voice was consoling; he proceeded toward the thermostat to turn the heating on.

Left his jacket on, placed his keys absently on the counter, his wallet, then his phone; he turned the light on in the living room, then the TV, flipped to CNN. Thought of calling Stiles to ask when he was coming back, thought of several excuses to give for calling, like _I wanted to know if you want me to leave dinner out for you, or should I leave hot water for you in the shower?_

Nah, Stiles showered in the mornings anyway, after running. He had no excuse to call him, who cared when he came home…?

But it felt worse when it was even later at night and he still hadn't returned, and hadn't called or anything, and Derek got angry with himself for caring. _Who cares what he does? It's his business, he's an adult._ The more he thought of it, the more stupid he felt for asking Stiles to _do it_ that day. He laughed pitifully at himself in his mind for getting so worked up over something trivial, like they were a couple of teenagers playing stupid teenage games; maybe some things never changed when you were an adult.

It occurred to him Stiles was avoiding him, maybe because he didn't know what to think.

He wanted to tell him, _forget it, I'm over it. It's not that big of a deal—_but if Stiles was avoiding him, he didn't want to be the one to text him first.

Very late into the night, he heard the unmistakable sound of the front door coming unlocked; his eyes went big in the dark, he went completely still to make it seem like he was sleeping. There was the jingle of keys, rustling of a coat, the electronic chime of Stiles' phone going into the charger; soon after that, the fridge door coming open, then closed, then the cabinet; he listened for some time, oddly comforted that he had come back.

He was prepared to apologize for things he never did, he just wanted things to go back to normal. Maybe he could day it was no good on the set if there was this _weirdness_ between them, but he suspected Stiles would deny there was _weirdness_ at all.

He swore to himself he'd pretend to be asleep and say nothing, but after listening to Stiles move through the room while quietly gathering his pajamas, he couldn't help himself; he gave himself away by quietly murmuring that he was sorry.

He knew as soon as spoke that he'd made a mistake, because that meant that he cared, and now Stiles was going to say _there was nothing to be sorry for,_ but he was going to keep acting like there was.

Stiles stilled; he turned around with his clothes bundled in his hands, and picked at them absently. "Sorry for what?" he asked, and Derek didn't have an answer prepared. He stilled for several moments, his voice came hoarse with sleep when he spoke,

"For, you know, what I asked…it was stupid, forget I said anything."

Stiles' expression was unreadable; in the dark, it was hard to tell, either way.

"No worries," he said, and somehow that hurt even more—like it gave legitimacy to what Derek had suspected, _that everything they'd done was really a mistake._ He thought he really hated him at that moment.

_When did this all become so emotionally charged? When did it stop being just curious experimentation, and became hurtful, like—_

—_like when you really had feelings for someone…_

Times like this, it sucked that they were living together. The air was suffocating between them, and they tried to distance themselves in the small confines of their suite, they avoided each other deliberately whenever they could, _but they worked together, too._

Three days passed before Derek brought attention to it again.

"So, is that it, then?" he asked , audibly annoyed. He had his back turned to Stiles, working on his laptop.

Stiles was most of the way to asking _is what it,_ but Derek didn't let him finish. "Come off it," he deadpanned, "stop acting like you don't know."

_He could swear, Stiles looked mischievous when he replied_, "What's this, we having our first lovers' quarrel?"

There was something tremendously satisfying in hearing it, because here Stiles had acknowledged the matter for the first time instead of avoiding him.

"Yeah," Derek said, "yeah, we are. Or something. I don't know, this has made me feel like shit all week."

Stiles sighed; he rubbed at his brow, aware he now had to address the matter directly.

"I just didn't want to. Alright? I'm sorry," he said.

_It was like every new thing he said was more hurtful than the last._

"You didn't _want to,"_ Derek repeated, and Stiles held his arms helplessly to his sides and said, "Yeah! I just didn't. I don't know why."

"You could've just said so," Derek said, even though he would have vastly disliked that; he just wanted to be able to accuse him of something. They urge to say _What makes you think I wanted to myself?_ Was irresistible, but it was too late to say that; he'd already made it quite clear that he _did._

He was aware the correct course of action at that point was to pretend he wasn't bothered, but he was exhausted from pretending not to care that past week and putting up with the distance that had formed between them.

"Is it because I'm a guy?" he asked, and Stiles' expression changed into something not quite discernible; it occurred to Derek unpleasantly it seemed dangerously like _compassion._ He'd given up on trying to appear like he _wasn't_ a little boy.

Stiles walked over to the kitchen table and sat down at his side. "Look, I really am sorry," he said, and Derek raised one hand to stop him, because he didn't want to hear it gently and empathetically _explained _to him.

"It's not because you're a guy," Stiles said, "or because I'm a guy, or…or anything like that."

Derek's first impulse was to jump in and remind him he didn't like guys either, and it's not like he normally did that—but after what Kate had said, he felt awful bringing something like that up. "Then what?" he asked, nakedly putting his feelings in the open, and feeling betrayed that he had to worry about something like that, _because weren't they best friends in the first place…?_

Stiles shrugged, he appeared genuinely at a loss. "I don't know," he said honestly, "I just…" he shook his head, "I just, for some reason, I just don't want to."

Stile shook his head, now feeling awfully guilty; he was aware he'd hurt Derek without ever meaning to. "No, no, nothing like that…"

"Because that time, it just, I _couldn't_, because clearly it was—you really looked like it hurt, and it was—"

"No, that was fine—it's not—come here."

He leaned toward Derek and got his arms around him, like he was consoling a child; _it occurred to him he'd really missed him._

"I'm an asshole, I'm sorry," he said feeling like a monster: here in the midst of everything, he'd decided with no prior warning that he _just didn't want to anymore—_but you can't change how you feel.

Derek badly wanted to push him away, to tell him he didn't need to be _embraced_ and that he didn't need his pity; but it felt too good to pass up. For all his strength, he'd always been inhumanly gentle, he hugged Stiles carefully like he didn't want to crush him.

After that, Stiles remained sitting across from him, he took his hands in his and held them in his lap. He played absently with his fingertips feeling along the smooth digits and the tips of his nails; "Do you want to, right now?" he asked, and Derek didn't look up from their joined hands.

"We don't have to."

"Do you want to though?"

"I don't know, I thought you didn't want…"

"Maybe I kinda do."

"Are you just saying that because—"

"No, I really want to."

Silence.

"Come on," Stiles said, motioning with his head for Derek to come along, "I'll fuck you _properly."_

He finally got Derek to smile; "Yeah, right," he said, "like you have the slightest idea what you're doing…"

"Maybe I do."

"Sure you do."

"Maybe I read up on it."

Derek laughed, because it was _so like_ Stiles—but he felt inwardly surprised regardless, because he thought Stiles had lost interest entirely.

"You did?!"

"Maybe I did."

"Well theory is one thing, but practice…"

"Yeah, it's probably gonna be horrible."

_A/N: Ok so they made up. A little smutty action next chapter. I hope you all are enjoying the story. I'll try to update tomorrow or maybe a little later. Comments are appreciated. _


	16. Chapter 16

Chapter 16:

Derek and Stiles were sitting across from one another on Derek's bed, Stiles was rubbing at his feet which were cold under his socks, even with the heater on. He could've said _it was a misunderstanding_ or _I've always secretly wanted you _or _let me make it up to you by giving you a better night than anyone has ever had_—but none of that stuff would be true, and you couldn't lie so extravagantly to someone who knew you that well.

But friendships weren't _perfect_, and liking someone didn't translate into _good sex._ Liking someone also didn't translate into selfless, or sensitive, or kind.

"You're doing this for your girlfriend," Stiles said plainly, and Derek regarded him. He was going to protect her to the point of believing what she believed, _because it was a beautiful thing,_ it was all very profound and intellectual, and empowering, and it was all about beauty and love.

It's fun to be _empowered_ when you believed the rebellious things that were fashionable to believe, and then never to shut up about them.

"I'm not," Derek said, "she's right." He regarded him accusingly, like her were challenging him, reveling in what to him was defiance. Not _reveling_, really, but feeling like he really _shouldn't speak this way_, except that there was he doing it, and it gave him this impression he was _reveling_—then he decided, _yeah_, _that's what I'm doing, what do you think of that?_ Because that's what it felt like.

And that made him go on like the rebel it felt like he was, he said stuff like _men are beautiful_ and _it is hot_ and _I want you_ and _sexual orientation is a stupid label_ and _love sees no gender_ and _this is my choice_ and _I'm empowered_ and _I love people regardless of what they are_ and all manner of sugary things that make you feel good to say because they reduce really complicated issues into simple matters of tolerance and love.

No, he didn't say any of that, it's not fashionable for guys to talk this way—though that would be nice, for once watching _them_ dig their own graves without any help from the opposite sex.

What actually happened was that he say across from Stiles, not really certain about what to say. Then his phone rang, and he answered it, picking at stray threads in the blanket, trying to get Stiles back by acting like he wasn't important.

Stiles felt the blow of it, too, the passive-aggressive maneuver against which Derek was immune because if Stiles had said anything, Derek would act like he had no idea where it was coming from, and he'd even believe that.

There was unspoken animosity between them that was awfully tempting to act on, but that would be _childish_, and they were convinced they were _fully grown men._

"If you're just gonna talk on the phone…" Stiles said once Derek had hung up, and here came the passive-aggressive bit, Derek said, "What, I can't answer my phone now?"

Stiles rolled his eyes. "Just forget it," he muttered venomously, but Derek just went on, "So now if I answer my phone it's like this personal offense to you?"

"Forget it! Nevermind…!"

If Kate had been there, she'd say something like _Can't you just settle this by wrestling naked in a tub of jello, _she always had a positive spin on things. They just didn't behave well without her instructions.

But she wasn't there; Derek muttered for Stiles to go fuck himself and proceeded into the living room, because it was too late to get out. He felt desperately he just needed time alone, but there they were, stuck in the same small space.

Stiles took it as personal offense, _as if he really wanted to be stuck here with Derek, _he huffed and then walked back to his own bed, got back up, strode angrily into the living room.

"Yeah, you know what," he said, walking deliberately toward Derek, "just don't talk to me again."

"Right, whatever, _don't talk to you,"_ Derek muttered, back turned and facing his laptop.

Derek hadn't really done anything wrong. There was the phone thing, but that wouldn't be so irritating if Stiles hadn't somehow got the subconscious feeling _he had the upper hand_ in the first place. Stiles knew somewhere in the back of his mind that Derek was justified in being upset, but without knowing it he latched onto any rational reason he had to reject him, _because he just didn't feel like getting close to him as of late, who knew why._

Maybe he was overwhelmed after everything they'd done. Maybe being stuck together both at home and at work became suffocating, even when they were very good friends.

And even while both he and Derek knew deep down that Derek was in the right, the whole thing had Derek feeling inexplicably guilty inside, like he'd _messed up_ somehow. It made him very annoyed, because he _knew_ it was bullshit for him to feel that way, but you don't get to decide how to feel.

"You're so full of shit," he huffed bitterly, "you read up on it and you really want, I don't need your charity."

"Yup, that's me, full of shit," Stiles replied, "you've got me all figured out."

"Whatever, I don't even care anymore; I'm done dealing with your shit."

"Dealing with my shit? I'm not the one—like—have you cleaned up around here _once_ since we've been here? _Once!_"

Derek spun around in his chair like he was ready to kick Stiles' ass.

"Did you just seriously accuse me of not cleaning up?!" he asked, eye narrowing dangerously, "You, who—have you ever thrown out the trash? Ever…?"

"Yes, I've—"

"Don't even _try_ bullshitting me about that, because you haven't it's always me taking it out, when it's totally full, because I always wait to see if you'd do it, but it's like the entire concept is foreign to you, you, like, pile trash on top of other trash—"

_It was completely true, but Stiles was too pissed off at the moment to admit that even to himself._

"Fine…!" he sputtered, "whatever, I don't have to listen to this."

"Whatever, you know I'm right."

"Can you just shut up?"

"Oh, because you told me to?"

"SHUT UP ALREADY!"

He actually got his hands on both ears. Then the neighbor from next door banged on the wall and shouted some curses.

_It was very embarrassing_. They both went quiet after that.

"Alright," Stiles finally said, he sighed heavily and sat at the edge of the couch, willing himself to calm down. "This isn't good for the retreat."

It may have been an excuse, but it was true, either way.

Derek was pacing slowly into the kitchen, then back out, running one hand through his hair; he remained by the counter and traced the angular edge of a drawer. They both were still mostly angry inside, but were trying to calm down.

Later that night, Kate gave Stiles a hard time, and it was both vastly annoying and tremendously reassuring.

"What are you doing?" She asked bluntly, "Go apologize."

"Excuse me?" Stiles croaked sleepily, because it was three in the morning, and he'd been asleep until then. He stumbled out of bed into the living room, settling down on the couch without turning on the lights.

"This is Stiles," he whispered quietly, "did you mean to call Derek?"

"I know who I called; you think I don't know who I'm calling?"

"No, just—"

"You think I don't know how to call my own boyfriend?"

"What is this about?" he sighed, really not wishing to start another argument.

"You and Derek had an argument, you're being a jork."

Silence.

"What?"

"I mean a _jerk."_

"Ah. Well—" Stiles yawned mid-sentence, then rubbed hard at his eyes. "Well, that's between me and Derek, really…"

"Don't go blaming him for how I'm calling, he didn't tell me to call."

"I know."

"You know?"

"I mean. Ok."

Stiles gazed across the dark room at the outline of the TV, the remote on the coffee table, a headset, two other remotes next to that. There was painting on the wall of a vase of flowers that had been there since they'd moved in, with an ornate wooden frame, and a painting of a harbor next to that; with his eyes accustomed to the darkness, he could make out some of the details in the flower vase.

His knee rattled impatiently, he wanted to get this over with and get back to bed but began to suspect it wouldn't be easy.

"Why are you being like this to him?

"Like what?" Stiles sighed, not really wanted to be mothered, but curiously relieved to shed responsibility for once.

"Don't play dumb with me, you acted like everything was fine and then you decided you didn't_ want to._"

"I just don't. Ok?"

"What do you mean, _you just don't?"_

"Yeah, what about his feelings? You tell him you want to, and then one day you don't how do you think that feels?"

"Guys aren't like that; we don't just sit around crying about our feelings—"

"_Bullshit_," she snapped, _here was another thing guys said when they wanted to feel masculine; _the sheer volume of angsty love songs composed by males about the cruel fair proved to the contrary. You know, songs about how some guy fell in love with some woman because she was so pretty, but she was a cold-hearted bitch for not returning his affections—except he gets to fall in love with someone for being attractive, and she's supposed to fall in love with someone because he was probably ignoring a bunch of other women who were in love with him at the same time, because he didn't think they were pretty. The entire concept of _the friend zone_ is based on this premise, and fuck all if you don't hear guys cry about their _feelings_ in that regard all the time.

"You can't make me fall in love with him, Kate," Stiles whispered, extra quietly, because it would be an awful thing to overhear.

"I don't need to," she said, "you already love each other."

"_Not like that."_

"Bullshit."

"You can't rush this—"

"So you have to be a dick to him because _love takes time?"_

"You know, this isn't _one-sided, _I'm not this horrible villain—"

"Ok, you know what—fine. What's your side then?"

"What?"

"What's your side of the story?"

"My side of the story?"

"Since it's not _one-sided."_

"Oh. My side of the story…" he trailed off, absently picking at his lip.

"You know what, forget it, I don't have the patience for this. Go on and sleep together already."

"What?"

"Why is this taking so long? You've been there for a few weeks, what's the problem?"

"Wait, wait—" Stiles couldn't help chuckling at the absurdity of this. "Let me get this straight, you—"

"Me? I haven't said a word to you couple of –idiots—while you get into all this emotional bullshit…"

"You want us to fuck!"

"Obviously—"

Stiles chuckled aloud and tossed himself back on the cushions, unable to hold back now. He sighed, enjoying this despite himself.

"This who _emotional bullshit_ is just this massive obstacle on the way to watching us fuck."

"Yes! Wait, watching? I can watch?"

Stiles laughed; he really liked her sometimes. "I can't say no to that, you realize."

"Then you'll go and apologize?"

He sighed again. "It's not that simple…"

"Stop being stupid, go in there right now—"

"You can't just—"

"Where are you, are you by him?"

"No, you can't—"

"Just go! Is he sleeping? Wake him up and say you're sorry."

"Kate—"

"Just go! You guys owe me!"

By that time, Derek had already been awaked by the noise and was meandering sleepily toward the living room; he paused by the door and remained there, disoriented, watching Stiles on the phone, his hair completely disheveled. He was wearing fleece pajamas and absently scratching his chest from under his shirt, and murmured, "Who are you talking to?"

"Oh, he's here," Stiles said, "you can talk to him if you want." He'd begun walking toward Derek, but Kat warned him, "Oh, no. You stay on the line. He's here? Go apologize then."

Stiles began to protest, but finally resigned. "Alright," he sighed, and turned to Derek with the phone still pressed to his ear.

"Kate is making me apologize."

"_No! Not Kate is making me!"_

"Kate isn't making me apologize."

"_No!"_

"I'm apologizing, on my own, without anything to do with Kate."

Derek reached for the light; it was very bright when he flipped it on, and they bother squinted against it.

"You're talking to Kate?" he asked.

Stiles turned back to the phone, "He's too sleepy, I can't talk with him about stuff like that now."

Derek was already reaching for the phone; but Stiles gently batted his hand down. "She wants me to stay on the line."

"What?"

"So she can tell me how I'm meant to apologize to you."

"What?"

Derek's collar was bent awkwardly into his shirt, his hair jutting in what must have been the impression of his pillow. Like a kid who came to his parent's room at night because he couldn't sleep.

"Fuck it," Stiles said, he put the phone down on the couch and walked toward him, then got both hands on his cheeks. Derek stepped back and started peeling his hands away, Stiles tried to kiss him but sort of missed.

"What are you doing?" Derek asked, and Stiles didn't let go, "I'm trying to kiss you," he said and Derek appeared uncertain and confused.

"What? Why?"

"Your girlfriend is about to kill me if I don't."

"Oh," Derek said in a moment of clarity.

He let Stiles lean forth and kiss him after that, and then made for the kitchen, like he'd forgot what woke him up and decided it was because he wanted something to drink.

Stiles was back on the phone, Kate asked what happened. "I kissed him," Stiles said, and Kate asked, "And?"

"What and? And that's that."

"Go on and fuck already!"

Stiles snickered into one hand. "He's freaking half-asleep, what, just go on and just, you know—"

"Let me talk to him."

"Kate wants to talk to you."

Derek walked toward the phone, a bit more awake, not squinting against the light anymore. "What's up," he asked, then leaned back against the counter with a glass of water while Kate went on about how she spoke with Stiles and it's ok for them to have sex now.

Now Derek was laughing, too, wiping his lips with the back of one hand after drinking, "Sounds like you've got it all figured out."

"Yes! Just go!"

Twenty minutes later, they say on Derek's bed again, leaning on the wall, knees up on the mattress.

"We have been…so _insensitive…to your girlfriend…" _Stiles said, shaking his head in disbelief.

"We've been so _selfish_," Derek replied, "she's been so patient all along…"

"Not saying a word…"

"Just waiting, while we—you know—"

Stiles leaned in to kiss him. Both unshaven, very tired, and a little cold.

They didn't talk about whether they _wanted to_; they were tired emotionally. They settled on believing they were doing it for _her._ Derek lowered Stiles on the bed, carefully arranging himself as not to bear down on him with his weight; he'd been having at his neck for several moments before emerging quite perplexed. "But we already slept together once," he said, "why isn't she counting that?"

Stiles paused, brow furrowed. "Yeah, that's right," he said, "she already got what she wanted, why is on about how, like…"

They regarded each other with utter confusion.

"Because we said it wasn't good," Derek concluded, and it sounded sensible.

"Yeah, that's why," Stiles agreed, "it has to be something worth talking about."

"Something really _dirty."_

"Right, we've got to do something really dirty."

Derek laughed, one hand going over his eyes; he batted Stiles inadvertently. "Oh—you alright—sorry—we don't even know what we're doing, it'll come out _really silly_, if anything."

"Let's do something really silly, then."

"We already are."

Derek had his hand at the hem of Stiles' pajama bottoms; they both gazed down at where he gently slid his fingertips beneath. _Like he were asking permission._

"It's alright," Stiles said, voice very soft, _his breath tasted familiar._

"You're hard," Derek murmured, with childlike curiosity; his fingers closed slowly around his dick.

"Yeah," Stiles said, eyes scanning his face.

"For me?"

Stiles paused, like he was wondering if it was ok.

Derek leaned down to kiss him.

_A/N: More to follow…_


	17. Chapter 17

_So there is some smutty goodness here…Enjoy._

Chapter 17:

Evidently, Stiles really had _read up on the matter_, he was explaining to Derek what he'd come to understand. He actually invested in some lube; both he and Derek were struggling very hard not to cringe or scoff, _it didn't get gayer than this._

_Turned out it was nice for jerking off, but Stiles didn't tell him._

He tried to make a point of meeting Derek's eyes when talking about it, like he wasn't afraid, like he wasn't insecure, he tried reminding himself he'd bought it for a reason—_because they really did have sex, and this was what you should use, no lotion._

He wanted to make it credible, he lay naked beneath Derek and asked for his hand. Didn't laugh at the gracelessly wet sound when the liquid poured from the tube, Derek regarded it with his brow furrowed.

"Wait, wh—so—are we—" Derek started, and Stiles explained, "Yeah just do it to me, I've had more practice at this, so—"

He could see Derek was perplexed, so he went on. "I've tried it, on myself, and I take it you haven't—so—just—"

Derek appeared both confused and surprised, he regarded him questioningly. "You _have?"_ he asked, almost like he'd been left out of this, and Stiles smiled briefly, like he didn't want to open a discussion.

"Yeah, I—so anyway, don't worry about it, just—we'll do me this time, and if it works out, we can try it out with you, if you still want, but right now, just—"

Derek nodded, resolving himself to _be cool_ about this. "Show me," he said, completely serious, "so I know what to do."

They regarded each other in silence, and Stiles finally agree. "Right," he said, almost businesslike, impeccably composed despite the awareness Derek was going to stare directly.

"It's better if you do it yourself," he explained, like talking would make it less awkward, he got the lubricant on his fingers and slid his legs apart, _like he was acting_. He even told Derek to watch.

"That way-" his voice came a bit shaky despite everything, "—that way, it doesn't—you know, hurt—as much—"

He'd thought of his awkward stumbling in his pre-teens and well into his late teens when, like many other guys, he'd assumed it felt good for a woman if he got his finger between her legs. That's how porn made it look, anyway, they also made it look like _dicking_ was enough to make a woman cum. Turned out if he didn't do it right with his fingers, it hurt for them, and now he sort of understood –_if this was anything to go by._

_Maybe every guy should go through this._

Derek felt foolish just watching. He fought to believe he wasn't embarrassed, and it wasn't awkward; after all the bickering and arguing they'd done, and all the emotion garbage, he was aware he should be as cooperative and supportive as he could.

He felt he should ask if he could do it for him, but Stiles had said explicitly it was better if you did it to yourself; Derek started doing that really annoying thing where he was gently caressing his hand along Stiles' thigh.

"If you're looking for something to do," Stiles said, carefully placing his hand on his to make him stop, "you can try to do the same thing to yourself."

Derek stilled, lips uselessly parted without any proper response; he tried to evaluate whether Stiles was laughing.

"Though we were doing you now," he said, and Stiles replied, "Won't kill you to practice."

Derek went quiet after that; he didn't _try it on himself, _but stopped trying anything on Stiles. "Maybe later," he murmured aside.

He felt guilty. He felt insensitive, he was negotiating with his hands and rubbing at his chin, "Should I—you know—want me to go down on you or something?"

Stiles couldn't help but laugh at that. "You expect me to say no to that?" he smiled, a bit out of breath from what he was doing; now Derek smiled, too, "Want me to?" he asked.

"Sure," Stiles consented, "if you don't mind—"

"No..! No, of course not…just…move your leg a little—" He lightly patted Stiles' thigh.

"Oh, now I'll _really_ owe you," Stiles smiled, accommodating dutifully, he tilted back his head and laughed when Derek got him in his mouth; his hand came naturally in Derek's hair like he'd forgot he was a guy.

"God—that's—_thank you_—"

It had been so long Derek almost felt that he missed this—or maybe just that he was _getting the hang of it_, he was somehow flattered by Stiles' reaction, aware he managed to please him after how he _hadn't wanted to_ for so long.

"I can't—" Stiles tried speaking, he had to stop partway; he inhaled, laughed a little, tried again. "I can't—do this with my finger if you're lying like that—"

Derek allowed his dick out of his mouth long enough to speak. "Sorry, like this?" he asked, he licked his lip.

"Yeah—"

He moved back enough so that Stiles would have room to move his wrist, he was very careful and accommodating, _like he was understanding about this._ He didn't want to be the _bad guy_, the _insensitive guy_ who cared only about his own needs.

They'd been at it for some time when Stiles asked, "Give me your hand."

Derek had his hand on Stiles' dick, it was completely slick and wet, so he gave him his other hand instead.

"No, the other one," Stiles asked, voice breathless; he took Derek's right hand and brought his index finger to his entrance. Derek hesitated; he was aware what he was meant to do. Stiles' fingers cane over his own and he slowly pressed him in, _like a prostate exam all over again._

_So hot inside._

"How's that?" Derek asked, fighting his own impulse to panic, "does it hurt?"

There was no response for some time, like Stiles was trying to figure out if it did.

"Not so bad," he said, he kept his hand on Derek's finger, slowly guiding him farther in; when Derek began moving the digit on his own, Stiles shook his head. "Stop," he said, "just—do what I tell you."

"Right, sorry."

He'd got used to that after some time—to letting Stiles move his hand for him, he went back to taking his dick in his mouth, _at least he liked the way he did that._

It had been another five minutes before Stiles said, "Think we can try it now."

Derek hadn't stopped with his dick; he continued at it as if to make a point _he wasn't being selfish;_ Stiles wasn't going to stop him. _Let him go on as long as he wanted, no one ever asked you to stop giving head._

He kept at it to the end, one digit still inside, deliberately not moving; he let Stiles hold his head so he could watch, and dreaded how awful it would taste when he was about to cum—but he didn't make a scene of it at that time.

Afterwards, Stiles leaned his head back, propped by his elbows, chest rising with inspiration and falling again; "Whew…" he laughed breathlessly, then tried to smile. "Wow, this has—thank you. Right…right, so…"

Very slowly, Derek allowed his finger out; he wiped absently at his mouth with the back of one hand.

"Do you still want to…" he asked, voice low; Stiles nodded, still catching his breath.

"Yeah," he said, feeling lightheaded, "Yeah, let's try now."

He moved a bit back along the bed, eyes trailing Derek as he rose to his feel and began to disrobe; he watched him absently stroke himself, part of the way to hard. "Here," Stiles said, batting the lube in his direction, "you should probably get some on—"

"Yeah, I know," Derek said, even though he'd only ever done this once before, and that was with lotion.

The lube had a horrible sticky-wet sound as it poured from the tube, _but fuck if it didn't feel good on his dick_. He grinned toothily at Stiles, "It's great isn't it," he asked, and they both laughed at that, "I think I'll just do this all night…"

Now Stiles was laughing, "Great, should I leave you to it then?"

"Yeah, should've bought this a loooong time ago…"

"Many happy nights from now on," Stiles said.

"Happy nights with my right hand…ok, move a bit that way."

There it was, the familiar feeling from last time: Derek gingerly attempting to arrange his limbs as not to press down on Stiles, the depression in the mattress under his weight; Stiles got his hand on Derek's dick, gazing blindly over his shoulder as he slowly guided the tip of it inside. Breath suspended, legs sliding a bit more apart, he kept his fingers in place when he asked Derek to move _just a little bit in."_

They were a tight tangle of limbs, Derek's breath came hot and humid from slightly above him, _his hair smelled like shampoo._

"A bit more," Stiles asked, it was a slow process, and it didn't completely _not_ hurt—but Stiles was aware somewhere in the back of his mind that Derek was being very patient. He didn't complain about being made to go slowly, or about having to hold himself up—or about how he'd gone down on him earlier or about the taste, _he didn't even complain about how gay it was._

"You really are—a good guy—" Stiles' voice came strained, a bit breathless, and Derek didn't know what to say; "Don't want to screw this up," he replied eventually, but Stiles could tell he was really trying to cooperate.

"Doing well so far," Stiles said, "how far have you gone in?"

"I think it's in most of the way."

"Is it?" Stiles asked, with such audible optimism that now Derek smiled, too.

"Yeah…it's…yeah!"

They regarded each other, too close, but shyly laughing.

"Yeah, alright," Derek said, "there's an improvement, isn't it?"

"Yeah…" Stiles grinned back, "See, we're getting somewhere…"

Their eyes glittered with latent enthusiasm, like they were a couple of kids who'd stayed up all night bickering over a failed science experiment, and just _finally _got it to work.

_A/N: They're doing it! Send me your comments. I want to know what you think. _


	18. Chapter 18

Chapter 18:

Derek and Stiles got on quite well after that; even when it was clumsy and uncomfortable, their small victory had them in much improved spirits, and they laughed amicably at themselves. They gave each other small instructions on what to do, driven by the curious thrill of experimentation.

"Ah—! Right, ok, never mind that. Don't do that," Stiles said, laughing badly into the palm of one hand, "Try it if you're—ok, not that either!"

Derek paused and laughed, a bit out of breath, he had both hands on Stile's hips.

"I could do it," he said with a small grin, "want me to? Because I could."

_He could lift him by the hips and do him like that._

"No." Stiles was propped by his elbows, pointing one finger in warning, still grinning from before. "It's too much. Maybe after we…when we.." _When we'd gotten used to doing this._

_He could tell Derek wanted to show off how strong he was. _He was practically saying, _I do it this way all the time._

"Shit, you really are…" Stiles laughed, "you really could do that, you could just—"

Derek chuckled, enjoying this fully. "Yeah, I could just _lift _you."

"I know you can lift me," Stiles said, because Derek had done so multiple times; "But, like—"

"I could lift you while, you know, while we're…"

"Yeah, while we're…doing _this…_

"Totally different."

"Yeah, that's like…yeah, we're not doing that."

Derek laughed, then Stiles laughed; "Yeah, ok," Derek said, "We'll just do this. This is nice."

"So dull of me, isn't it?" Stiles grinned, he was lain beneath Derek in the stereotypical _missionary position_, "I'm such a _boring_ lay."

"What? Nooo…" Derek frowned, but Stiles continued, rolling his eyes in pretense of dramatic concern, "All these fantasies women have, where, you know—"

He was going to demonstrate with his hands, but bumped them against Derek's forearms when he tried to get them out from between them.

"Oh—sorry—I meant—all these fantasies, where, like…all those…convoluted…"

Derek glanced down when Stiles bumped his hands on him. "It's alright—oh, the crazy…gymnastics…and that…"

"Well, it doesn't—"

Stiles started, but then his alarm went off; it was 5:15 am.

"Oh, fuck—" he said, head turning to glance at his phone, which was loudly emitting the part-beep, part-melody tune that someone at Apple decided would be less scathing to hear than the tone of a regular alarm.

"Shit, it's already morning," Derek muttered, he slowed down and carefully moved back from over Stiles so he could climb down from the bed; he watched him proceed to his own bed, pick up his phone, turn off the alarm. Stiles paused across from him, naked as the day he was born, he placed his hands on his lower back and stretched. "Bad timing for this, isn't it," he laughed, and Derek smiled. "Yeah, didn't realize it was this late…or this early…"

"God…I'm all…lube-y…"

They both laughed at that; Derek rubbed hard at his eyes and smiled, "Ahh…can't believe we…" he yawned. "Wow, no I'm tired, because I know we have to get up."

"You don't have to, you can go back to sleep."

"Yeah I think I will. For like another…what, hour…"

"Yeah, I'm gonna get ready to run."

He was already going through his drawers for his jogging clothes; Derek watched absently from his bed, the way his behind was still read from being pressed down in the bed. Stiles paused on his journey to the bathroom, he grinned knowingly at Derek.

"Wasn't bad this time, was it?" he asked, Derek was pulling his boxers on; he gazed up from under his hair. "Yeah, it was great!"

They both felt quite tired. Derek left the bedside lamp on before crawling back into bed, but he didn't fall asleep straight away; he listened to the familiar sounds of Stiles getting ready, his toothbrush, the rush of water, the opening and closing of the cabinet door. Something cold brushed against his leg, and he reached curiously for it—the closed tube of lube, he huffed in self-mockery while placing it on the bedside table nearby.

_Can't believe we actually have this,_ he though, but he wasn't upset. He actually managed to fall asleep even before Stiles had left that morning.

That day, they had double the number of inside jokes they usually had, they shoved and tackled each other, they ate each other's food; it occurred to Stiles that Derek really looked good. But before all else, they were still good friends, he thought he was starting to get used to _all the stuff they were doing._


	19. Chapter 19

Chapter 19:

Derek and Stiles had every intent of heading to bed after the day; staying up the night before had left them exhausted, they even opted out of dinner with others to go to sleep early.

They were most of the way back to the suite when Stiles remarked they should stop at the supermarket; it was late enough in the evening that the store was largely deserted and one of the main entrances had already been locked. They debated what they should make for dinner, standing tiredly in the vegetable aisle and starting at the immaculate array of celery and artichokes and squash, the sprinkler softly misting over.

"Here, I got the buggy," Derek said, the shopping carts were smaller here. Low sound of wheels on linoleum, they felt too tired to figure out what to buy. "Did we finish the last time? I don't think we ever finished that," Stiles murmured aloud as they glanced lethargically over the frozen foods.

Derek couldn't have anything _fattening_; by then, Stiles was familiar enough with what he could and couldn't have, and he wound up eating _healthier_, himself. Derek caught him glancing at the Twinkies; he patted him amicably on the back and picked up the box. "Won't offend me, man," he grinned and tossed it into the cart.

"Promise to eat them only when you're not looking," Stiles replied.

They took turns paying for groceries, at this type of store you were meant to bring your own bags from home and then bundle them up yourself; they'd gotten pretty good at arranging things efficiently in each bag, and then arranging their bags in the trunk of the car. They'd gotten used to the bizarre right turn out of the parking lot, which wasn't exactly a full turn but wasn't a straight road, either.

At the red light, Stiles leaned toward Derek and kissed him slowly; he kissed him again at the doorstep, both with groceries in hand, Derek with the keys.

Once inside, they hadn't completely got the door closed before Derek had him against the wall, Stiles fumbling for the light switch, the bags falling to the floor with low _thumps_. They stumbled a little, stepping in-between the bags and the items that had rolled out, hands graceless on each other, tangled in their scarves and coats.

Derek emerged from it breathless, he chuckled, Stiles' fingertips grazed the stubble on his face.

"I've wanted to do this all day," Stiles laughed quietly, like an admittance of guilt.

They went at it for several moments before Derek asked, "Not sore, are you? From last night?"

In the dark, he could see Stiles shake his head. "No, it's fine," he said, he wasn't _sore the next day_ he way you always hear about in jokes.

_Same day, really._

They hadn't even got their coats off. Derek had at Stiles' neck, the following day people would see the mark and say nothing of it; their fingers impatient between them, the clink of the belt, Stiles swore under his breath when Derek's hand came on his dick. They scrambled clumsily with his trousers, Stiles couldn't hold back from pressing into his hands.

"Let me see you naked," the words came before he could think better of them, he tugged uselessly at Derek's coat, they never got the lights on; they got their clothes mostly off at the entrance, mostly sure they'd closed the front door.

It was cold like that. The low buzz of the fridge in the nearby kitchen, distant shout from somewhere outside, a helicopter flying overhead; Stiles' hands trailed down Derek's naked chest, he asked him, "Turn around."

"What?" Derek's voice came breathless, and Stiles reassured him, "Don't worry, I'm not gonna-I'm not gonna suddenly—like—fuck you or anything—"

Derek's laugh came a bit hoarse, because Stiles had been kissing his neck; "Didn't think you were," he lied, "but then—"

"Just, don't worry—"

Stiles laughed, he was already turning him around with his hands.

_It felt strange, but not bad;_ Stiles leaned against him from behind, his dick wet against him in a way that had Derek visibly uneasy, and Stiles said again he _wasn't gonna do anything._

_Just wanted to know what it felt like._

What if felt like when pressed on him, his dick slick and tight between them, hands possessive on Derek's abdomen and chest.

Derek swore silently, palms flat on the wall, face hung forth; _entirely unashamed that this got him hard._

_He could feel the liquid flow hot down the length of his dick; _he swayed forth with impact when Stiles moved against him.

_Neither of them knew how they'd got so turned on._

They spoke to each other in breathless whispers and partly-formed words, Stiles leaned very close to Derek's ear and murmured just at the ear lobe, "I'm going to eat you."

Derek was too aroused to feel self-conscious; he muttered incoherent expletives when Stiles' hands came on his behind, _breath humid against him_, _very light stubble, the pointed tip of his nose—_

"Fuck Stiles!" he said, _he'd really got his tongue on him, and it felt incredible._

He wasn't coy about it, either; he was loud and profane, seamlessly appearing like he'd done this before though he never had. _Certainly making it seem like he liked it,_ and maybe he did, because he'd been wondering what it was like ever since Derek had done it to him.

He had a personal goal of creating the illusion he was a proficient lover, just as he enjoyed fooling people he was perfect at everything—of course, he couldn't fool someone who knew him this well, but the impulse to try came to him as force of habit. So much that Derek chuckle somewhere between breaths, even as his fingers clawed at the wall, "I haven't forgotten your face when I did this, like some—virginal—"

Stiles laughed, breath hot against him; he smacked him lightly on the ass.

"Be quiet," he grinned, Derek gasped and turned partway around in surprise. "Oh, you did not—" he laughed incredulously, absently rubbing his behind. He was completely aroused when he turned toward Stiles, he bent forth and got both hands on his cheeks, then moved the rest of the way to take his mouth.

Stiles was helpless somehow, his fingers hovered over Derek's hands, but he didn't pry them off; he stumbled awkwardly to his feet, drawing breath through his nose, still kissing while Derek pulled the full weight of him into his arms.

_Have they had this in them all along?_

_Was it acting? Were they too tired to tell the difference?_

Derek actually picked Stiles up, the way they'd joked about before, like he'd wondered ever since if he'd ever really do it; Stiles chuckled, his legs protruded oddly over Derek's arm, wiry and long. "Holy shit," he muttered, unused to being carried _this_ particular way, he could tell Derek was having a field day showing off. _He still was wet around the mouth from when he was having at him._

Derek carried him toward the bedroom, kicking open the door in a way that made them both laugh and swear, he stumbled in the dark while lowing Stiles unto his bed.

"That was terrible," Stile snickered, and Derek grinned back, "Yeah?"

"You're meant to lower me down _romantically…"_

"Alright, you do it, then. Go and lower _me _down romantically."

They both were laughing now. "Rather not," Stiles said, "I can already feel my back…snapping in half…"

Derek climbed on the bed after him, _they had at each other without shame._ They were naked and clumsy and hard, getting each other wet with their dicks, wondering finally if all the fantasies and jokes about them had basis in truth.

"Let's give your girlfriend something worth telling," Stiles said, _maybe one day they really would let her watch._

_A/N: And there's a little more smutty stuff for you. More to follow…_


	20. Chapter 20

Chapter 20:

There were items on the bed that had rolled and fallen on the floor—a book containing maps, an empty box of plasters, a pair of jeans turned partly inside-out; Stiles and Derek had become a tangled mess of limbs, hands familiar on each other. Restless anticipation with the awareness they were very tired, _but they weren't going to sleep."_

"The groceries," Derek's voice came breathless, "we've—oh fuck—"

"You like that?"

"Shit—"

"You do like that."

Several moments passed before Derek spoke again. "We—" he laid on his back, hands hovering over Stiles while he kissed his neck wetly. "We—got all that frozen food—"

"Shit, you're right—" Stiles emerged just as much out of breath, "We got those—popsicles—"

Derek got both his hands on Stiles' face and pulled him down forcibly, seizing his mouth with fervor unrestrained. "It'll make a mess on the carpet when it melts," he said one knee pressed between Stiles' thighs, and now Stiles was swearing, stumbling gracelessly for balance, his wiry limbs protruded painfully at Derek.

They spoke impatiently between kisses, still gripping each other, possessive; almost like it were a fight.

"I'll just run and put those away," Derek said, making no motion to get up, and Stiles made no motion to release him; "Right, you do that—" he muttered, straddling him without letting go of his face. _Their voices came without shame when they pressed on each other._

"Ok, I'll go—"

Stiles finally said, Derek had his face firmly in his hands and didn't release him until they'd kissed a few more times.

He fell breathless to the sheets when Stiles let him go, utterly disheveled. "Turn on the heat," he called, chest rising and falling as he watch his naked silhouette proceed out of the room.

Stiles squinted against the light at the entrance; there were their bags, lain abandoned on the carpet, not as horribly messy as he expected to find them. He wasn't going to put everything away, just the frozen stuff now—he knelt partly down before remembering the thermostat.

"Right, the heat—" he said, the light felt uncomfortably bright as he leaned close to the set the temperature. He got back on his knees after that, impatiently tugging at the bags to find which had the frozen food inside; they'd got some vegetables and fish, and what Stiles had called _popsicles._ In actuality, though, they were really the sort of pitiful desserts health food companies tried to offer as compromise to people watching their diet: miniature little things half the size of a real popsicle and much skinnier, that were flavored ice on the outside and frozen yogurt inside, _he almost felt embarrassed for Derek._

It was way too cold to eat these anyway.

"Look at this," he said while pacing back into the bedroom, where Derek was laying expectantly on the bed like an obedient pet, absently stroking himself with could be only termed _innocence_.

"Look at what?" he asked, and Stiles had one of the popsicles dangling between his forefinger and thumb, still in it wrapper.

"You shouldn't stand for this, you're being _mocked_," Stiles held the thing in plain view, but it was dark in the room now that he'd got the light off in the hallway.

"What is that?"

"One of your popsicles," Stiles said, now climbing on the bed beside him, there came the rustle of cellophane as he pulled off the wrapper; they'd neglected the groceries long enough it had melted a little, and the liquid ran down his knuckles.

"Shit, I'm making a mess—" he said, and Derek frowned. "Hey…! Don't eat that, those are mine—"

"_Where_ is your dignity?" Stiles chuckled, "This is your entire dessert? _This?"_

"Fuck you—" Derek laughed good-naturedly, trying to catch him by the wrist; "I have no dignity. I've, like…I've sold my body to the devil—"

There came a brief strike of flesh as he finally got Stiles' arm in his grip, his laugh came triumphant and low. "I like my miniature…pathetic…wannabe desserts…"

And then, "Eugh…you're all…"

"I'm all sticky," Stiles said, "it melted on my hand, just there—"

"Give me that."

He pried the popsicle from Stiles' grasp and took it in his mouth, it was a sorry size for something that claimed itself to be a dessert.

"Lie down," he said, voice muffled around it, he gave Stiles a shove on the shoulder. They were kissing again after that, Derek with ice cream at an arm's distance, scanning the room uselessly for a good place to put it, because it was in the way.

"I know _exactly_ what you're gonna do," Stiles said, he watched him try to keep it from melting down his wrist, and Derek couldn't help smiling. "Nah, I'm not really," he said, and now they both laughed, both embarrassed.

"Ok, I _was_ thinking it," he admitted, he could see Stiles grinning even in the dark. "Want me to?" he asked, and now Stiles laughed, eyes tightly shut, head turned aside.

"No."

"Ok. I'll—"

"Ok, maybe. I don't know."

In the dark, he could see Derek's eyes glitter with boyish enthusiasm.

"Argh, why is it always me…!" Stiles laughed, he rubbed his eyes, then finally sighed and grinned back at him. "Fine, go for it."

"You started this," Derek's voice came muffled around the popsicle again, he moved back along the bed and took his place between Stiles' legs. He stopped as to pull the wrapper completely off, it clung wetly to his hand; _Stiles could feel the feathery brush of his hair on his thighs, the cool draft, embarrassing moments just before._

_So this wasn't so bad._

He'd not realized the hunger in him when he reached forth to lap at his entrance, but soon he had at him _like he was starving—_breathlessly, loudly, _he liked the way Stiles tugged at him._

Like he were trying to pull him away, _but ultimately didn't._

"Fuck, you're so good at that," Stiles muttered, "is that bad of me? I mean—that I really like how you do that—"

"It's fine," Derek's voice came muffled, he only stopped long enough to speak; the popsicle dripped down his wrist and probably stained the sheets, but it was too dark to tell.

He slowly withdrew from Stiles, trying to uselessly to see in the darkness, and got the tip of his finger on the small entrance.

"Open for me," he said, voice inhumanly gentle and soft; his stubble brushed on Stiles' skin when he leaned very lightly to kiss his inner thigh. "This alright? Like this?"

"Ah—"

"Shh…" Derek whispered, he reached forth to kiss him again, just at the entrance, he pressed the tip of his finger a little ways in.

_His lips were cold and wet from the popsicle._

"Later, I'm totally doing this to you," Stiles muttered mid-breath.

"I know."

"All of it."

"I know."

"The popsicle too."

"This is nothing compared with what you're gonna do to me."

"Exa—oh, f…fuck…"

Stiles' legs stiffened on Derek's sides, he chuckled aloud and rubbed at his face with both hands. "Fuck, that's cold."

_He knew Derek was smiling; he was enjoying the hell out of this, the cheeky fuck._ He'd got just the tip of the popsicle in him, it was dripping coldly down his ass to the sheets, now that ice had partway melted from over the frozen yogurt bit.

"Does it hurt?" Derek asked.

Stiles laughed helplessly, the long digits of his hands scattered all over his face; he regarded the dark ceiling from the spaces between them. "No…" his voice came a bit muffled, "no, it doesn't hurt…"

"…you want more…?"

"I'm gonna kill you."

"That a yes?"

Stiles sighed. "I suppose it's a _story worth talking about..."_

Derek took his time about it. He slid it in slowly, a little at a time; it was enough it wouldn't really hurt, and it melted enough that he'd got him _too _wet after just a short while. He'd made a huge mess of him. Derek was uselessly trying to lick at the liquid running down his thighs, _and Stiles really liked that._ He'd stopped swearing at him and murmuring threats of eternal vengeance, he'd got one hand on Derek's head in a way that meant without question, _he should go on._

By the time Derek had got the entire length of it in, he was no longer certain there was any of it left, or if it all was a melted dripping mess.

He pulled back a little, the streamlets clinging wetly to his mouth, his lips and his chin, _he could feel them streaming from his jaw;_ "You look so good," he murmured he got one digit inside him very slowly, _it moved with wet, profane sounds._

"That—actually—that's actually very good—" Stiles stammered, voice brittle but colored with audible interest; Derek's breath felt humid on his thighs when he laughed.

"So, is now when you're going to eat me?" Stiles sounded almost impatient.

"It's a legitimate ques—oh, ff…god…wow…that is…thank you…"


	21. Chapter 21

Chapter 21:

The sheets were in a mess. Derek had got his hands on Stiles' hips, and had lifted his lower body entirely off the bed, he held him pressed to his mouth with his legs gracelessly strewn over his shoulders. They'd both got terribly messy, the fluid dripped wetly down Derek's mandible to his chest, he sucked loudly at him, obscenely, _trying to lick it all out of him._

It was a strained position for Stiles. He and Derek had joked about _being lifted like this,_ and he completely knew Derek had it in him, but he didn't think they really were going to do it; _without question, _it got him hot. He was so vulnerably exposed, but he _liked_ the way Derek held him: it was practically effortless, he could tell. It felt somehow _secure_.

The liquid trailed down his behind, warmer now, Derek's humid breath and the brush of his stubble; _he'd got his tongue in him all the way and lapped at him from the inside._ Stiles remained stunned somehow, uncertain how to take all this, utterly embarrassed _but so turned on._

"F…fucking put me down—"

He muttered, but he might as well have said _I'll kill you if you stop_. His hands gripped at the sheets, _he could feel his dick wet on his own abdomen._

Derek was graceless about it, he had mercilessly at the flesh, entirely wet around the mouth; he held him up with one arm around his abdomen. He got his finger in him and slid it all the way, and muttered, "There's still so much cream inside—"

They digit went readily in, wet sounds emanating profanely, rivulets of fluid glittering down Stiles' naked skin.

"I'm doing this to you later, all of it," Stiles murmured between breaths, his voice came strained with the way Derek had him bent, "I'm gonna—"

"You're gonna lift me? Like this?"

"Exactly—"

The digit emerged slick from inside him, the melted cream streaming down Derek's hand to his wrist; he finally put Stiles down on the bed, then leaned over to seize his mouth.

He got both hands on his cheeks and kissed him, "Tell her about this," he said.

There was no preamble after that.

Their hands scramble impatiently between them, both going for Derek's dick; it slipped wetly against Stiles' thighs and missed before they'd managed to get it in.

"It's—it's fine, it's in, you can—"

Derek might have tried to go slowly, _but it slid in so readily inside he didn't stop himself._

"Oh—sh—" he muttered, it was a rushed and clumsy ordeal, both rendered speechless by how naturally compelled they felt to keep going and by how _alright_ it felt.

No words were exchanged for some time; only the primal obscenity of sex, the profane sound of flesh striking wetly on flesh, the unbearably ridiculous creaking of bed springs and scraping of the headboard on the wall; _Stiles was entirely too stunned to know what to make of it._ There was the impulse to be as cool about it as he made himself about any outlandish challenge while acting, but the sheet vulnerability of it was something he hadn't known before: it was impossible to suppress or deny.

Derek was so _powerful_. It was intimidating somehow, the impact of him, the way he had him in his grasp, _even easy as it was to get lost in the physical act._ Stiles could see him get into it, like he'd successfully overcome any awareness this wasn't just the way he usually bedded someone, and it was somehow unfair—because _he had the easier job, after all._

Stiles had never been through something like this; he had nearly no control over how he was moved or held, it occurred to him he was mentally planning to ask Kate after the fact _if it was like this when she got with Derek._

All in all, though, _it went without saying that it was good._ They both knew it; they carried on relentlessly, breathlessly, gripping each other without shame, Derek was entirely damp with exertion. His skin had gone slick, Stiles could feel the heat of him when he leaned close, getting his arms under him for a better grip; he struck against him hard enough Stiles would be red and raw the next day.

He muttered to Stiles about how _he was gonna cum,_ the words fragmented, his teeth became clenched; _there was something almost selfish about it._ When he finally stopped and hung his head weakly above him, _Stiles was aware he'd been thoroughly fucked._

Derek stumbled tiredly as he tried to maneuver his limbs from over him, he fell clumsily to the sheets at Stiles' side, spent and damp, catching his breath; "Don't'…say anything…" he murmured against the sheets, "I would have been…just as…it would've been fine…if you did it to me…"

"It wasn't bad," Stiles said with a little smile, though he was distinctly aware of being frightfully messy, _he could feel the fluid stream hotly from inside him._ "Next time I—you, next time I'm with a women, I'll have to ask her to do this…you know…this…popsicle…thing…"

"That's crucial."

"I'll have to explain—right—see, Derek did this to me—"

"And now I have to have it."

"Now I can't…go without…"

Derek was catching his breath. There wasn't really enough room on the bed for them to lie comfortably; they were a bit crowded while resting after the fact. Stiles turned his head sideward to smile at Derek, they laughed knowingly, _like they were partners in crime._

"I have to admit, that was good," Derek said, his voice came low and measured.

Stiles' laugh came with combined amusement and embarrassment, he had one arm over his abdomen and gazed at the ceiling in the dark. "Alright, maybe a little," he agreed, "Fuck, you just—lifted me—"

"I lift you all the time."

"No you don't."

"_All the time."_

"Fuck off."

Stiles thought he'd never needed a shower more badly; but, even so, they both felt so lethargic after the fact they drifted off as they were, slippery and damp. _It wasn't even that late._ Derek woke up sometime in the night, disoriented and sleepy, he was aware of Stiles pressed at his side; it was unexpectedly pleasant, he grinned inwardly to remember all they had done. They'd slept together _properly_, and the warm thrill of it overwhelmed even the insecurity that it was _gay_ in every sense of the word.

Stiles was out cold, lain in the narrow space between Derek and the wall with his arms crossed over his chest, snoring lightly. _He'd really been such a good sport about everything, _more courageous than Derek in agreeing to take all that, in actually offering so Derek wouldn't have to. He'd redeemed himself for making Derek suffer the week before.

Derek turned on his side toward him, his hands slid to the small of Stiles' back, he was warm from the heating that still as humming in the background. He really had got used to having his arms around him from their work together, and was surprised by how unexpectedly familiar this was. Derek kissed his forehead very lightly, his large hands trailed on Stiles' ass where he still was wet at the thighs, he murmured, "I've made such of mess of you."

_There was undeniable contentment to his tone._

Very gently, he slid one digit between his inner thighs to his entrance, holding him very close while carefully urging the slick fluid out. _Funny how possessive he felt,_ like he got him messy, so it was his job to properly clean him now; Stile was still soundly asleep, he barely stirred.

"This is awful," Derek whispered very quietly, "it just makes me wanna do it again."

_It was alright. It wasn't gay because Kate wanted them to._

His fingers were very gentle inside him, careful not to hurt or wake him—but even when he moved very far in, Stiles didn't wake up; he was really exhausted. "I promise, next time you can do me," Derek murmured, "you can both do it to me."

_A/N: So what did you think? I think I have a few more chapters left in me. I'm hoping you're enjoying this. _


	22. My Apologies

Hey guys I know it's been a long while since I've posted a chapter, but I've just been swamped with work. I promise that after this weekend, I should be posting more.

Please review or pm me if you have an idea for me. :)


	23. Chapter 22

_I am soooo sorry that I've been away for so long. Work has been kicking my ass, but I finally got some time to myself. So how are you liking the story so far? Please keep the reviews coming._

_Disclaimer: I do not own Teen wolf, I just like the characters._

Chapter 22:

In the days that followed, Stiles and Derek had gotten along better than ever; Derek made a point of lifting Stiles any chance he had, as though to prove what he'd said on it before. They were as playful as schoolboys, they fought like real brothers, they kissed each other like crazy whenever they had a moment alone.

"Did you want to stay at my place?" Derek asked. Their time at the retreat would soon draw to a close, and they would have a couple of weeks free before having to get back to the real world.

"Come to stay at your place?" Stiles laughed, "What—just—" he lifted his hands, "—just come to your house?"

"Or the loft," Derek said, because Kate had a loft where they lived part of the time.

"The loft may be easier," Stiles replied because it was much closer to his own home. "I think my dad would kill me if I didn't come home for the break."

"Tell him you've been adopted."

Stiles laughed. "Adopted?"

"That's right."

"This is all just so Kate can watch, isn't it?"

"Gotta pay your keep somehow."

Derek stretched luxuriantly in his chair, legs long and straight before him; he was visibly enjoying this.

"Yeah, I suppose we do."

"We?"

"That includes you too, doesn't it?" Stiles asked, "Paying your keep."

Derek chuckled. "Every night."

Kate, of course, was all ears when they told her _what they had done._ She was sitting with a pint of ice cream and with curlers in her hair, intently listening; _vastly _entertained by their obvious embarrassment as they argued about _how it happened._

"Wait, wait," she tried stopping them mid-argument, "Derek put _what_ in you…?" _She wanted to fully enjoy._

"Just so you know, I'm doing it to him next time," Stiles could be heard in the background, and Derek tried shushing him, to no avail. "Tell her next time I'm doing you."

Stiles could hear her appreciative cheer from the phone in Derek's hand, she was very interested in seeing this.

"He's upset that I lifted him," Derek quietly told her, smugly grinning; Stiles nodded, "I am…!"

"But you lift him all the time," Kate said, like it were simple logic, and Derek was glad _someone_ finally saw reason. "I know…!"

It was a shame it was the norm to have one boyfriend, because she would have liked them both to be.

_A/N: So this one was a short one, but I have more coming. Please review. _


	24. Chapter 23

Chapter 23:

Stiles' greatest concern on visiting Kate's loft was finding a good jogging route. It was easier around his place because of the close proximity to open wildlife—but the loft was surrounded by many small streets. He wound up devising a convoluted route that had him turn so many corners, he'd nearly got lost, and he challenged himself to remember it exactly for the following day.

Kate had a very large loft, the kind with character, and history, which was most certainly _haunted_ if you were imaginative enough; she took care of Derek in an almost maternal way and showed Derek the same kindness; she loved watching and listening to them like they were rare and precious toys.

On the night of their arrival, Stiles could tell she was devouring Derek with her eyes, like she hadn't eaten in ages and was visibly starving. "Go ahead," he smiled at her knowing kindness, all elegance and charm. "I'll wait."

"I'll only be a minute…!" she promised while tugging Derek by the hand, she shouted incoherently to Stiles about making himself at home, how there was food in the fridge, the password to their wifi. He remained at the entrance with their luggage still at his side, smile still plastered to his face, absently picking at his gloves. _He really did feel somehow at home, even if he'd never been there._

In bed, Kate said to Derek, "Come to me after you've been with him; I want to taste him off you."

_It got him curiously hot._

She took much longer than a minute, Stiles was passed out in the family room in front of the TV by the time she and Derek had come down the stairs. "I'll drag him by the feet, you take his arms," she whispered in jest, "we can be done with him before he wakes up."

Derek laughed and gently shoved her, "You have got…the _dirtiest_ mind…" he grinned, "besides, he'll definitely wake up."

"You really fucked him," she whispered, sizing Stiles up like Derek won her respect for it, and Derek flushed; he felt mostly embarrassed, but also flattered by the unmistakable reverence in her voice.

"I really did," he whispered back. _They both wanted him_, but wanting Stiles was hardly uncommon among the human race nowadays.

Derek had got so used to sharing a room with him it would feel strange not to do so now; Kate was almost too obvious when she gave them a room together. She might as well have said, _just do your thing; I'm definitely no planning on coming in to watch._

"You gave us—" Stiles said, he turned to her with one eyebrow, "—one bed?"

She held her hands to her sides in pretense of absolute innocence. "That's how the room is…!" she explained, like it couldn't be helped. "There's just one bed in this room."

"A-ha," Stiles replied, trying hard not to laugh. "That's just an _intrinsic property of this room."_

"There's nothing I can do about it," Derek added skeptically, and Kate smiled like finally they were seeing eye to eye. "Yes…!" she replied, "I'm really so sorry…terrible inconvenience, but it can't be helped."

"_Terrible_," Derek shook his head, "especially considering there used to be a second bed in here."

"Was there?" Stiles asked, and now Kate acted stunned. "_There was?"_

She stood on her tiptoes to kiss Derek goodnight, they could hear her musing aloud on her departure, "Whatever happened to that second bed?"

"Cheeky," Stiles said when they were alone, the room was plenty large and his luggage fit comfortably; he had to open it on the floor and was rummaging through. "Your loft is beautiful, really," he said, "thank you for letting me stay."

"Hey, I asked you to," Derek replied, "nice to have a break from work though, isn't it? Finally we can sleep in."

"Oh—actually, I get up early—you know—"

"Right, for running."

"For running, yeah."

"You kissing in there?" there came a loud shout from somewhere down the hall.

Derek and Stiles exchanged glances.

"Absolutely…!" Derek shouted back.

"Kissing very…heavily…!" Stiles called. "Anyway, you can come along on my run, if you want to." He tugged his shirt over his head and reached for his pajama top.

"Nah, it's alright," Derek replied, he pulled the sheets back on his side of the bed; at least the bed was larger than the ones at the retreat, it wouldn't be so crowded this time. "I want to sleep in."

Stiles could tell once he'd got beneath the covers there was real luxury here: the sheets were the sort you'd expect at an expensive hotel, the mattress was comprised of orthopedic foam that molded to the shape of your back.

"Ooh, this is very nice—" he sighed as he sank into it, "this is…so perfect…"

Derek was vastly amused. "The other bed that used to be in here was better," he said.

"Was it?"

"Nah, I'm making it up, Think it was the same kind."

They half expected Kate to shout to them again about whether they were kissing again, but she'd left them alone; she a good heart, letting Derek keep Stiles company for the night after not seeing her boyfriend in so long. It was why she'd taken a long time with Derek before, _to have her fill of him_. She had them stay together deliberately, so they wouldn't feel it was somehow wrong, that they would remember _she liked it._

"This really is nice, isn't it," Derek said as he lay on his back, he turned his head to Stiles like they were two kids at a sleepover. "This mattress is awesome."

"It really is," Stiles replied, "was worth coming here just for this."

They regarded each other in the dim lamplight before leaning in to kiss very slowly.

"She wants me to come to her after I've been with you," Derek murmured softly, their hands remained loose on each other's cheeks.

Stiles' brow furrowed; it was flattering, this he couldn't deny. "Does she?" He asked, his voice so delicate and airy he might not have spoken at all. He remembered how she had chastised him on the phone some weeks before, _aware that Derek was very profoundly loved._

They closed the small distance between them, inexplicably gentle when they kissed and curiously innocent. "Should I should out that we're kissing now?" Derek asked, and Stiles' laugh was warm against his lips; "Yes. Shout she has five seconds to get in here before we stop."

"Five seconds, that's cruel."

"Ok, six."

_A/N: Keep the reviews coming…More to follow…_


	25. Chapter 24

Chapter 24:

Kate had been busy with work and running errands; she had been gone a large part of the day and returned only in the evening, quite exhausted after terrible rush hour traffic. Her feet hurt from standing on high heels so long, her face felt oily and gross from all the makeup, her bra felt too tight. From the kitchen there emanated sounds of something sizzling in a pan, clinking of dishware, the tap coming on and then off. She grinned tiredly as she made her way there, she pulled her purse off one shoulder and set her keys down; "You guys cook together," she said, leaning forth against the bar to curve her aching back, "That's so cute.

Stiles turned from where he was stirring something in the pan, _he even had a fucking apron on _(she didn't remember buying that?)_,_ he grinned and waved, "Hello!"

Derek turned to greet her as well, he appeared to be peeling vegetables over the sink.

"How was your day?" he asked, and Kate was now sitting on one of the barstools, trying to pick apart the intricate fastens of her shoes. "Don't make him anything fried, Stiles," she warned, "he'll get fat"—because Derek had a very strict diet; Stiles grinned, "He has been putting on the pounds, hasn't he?"

Derek frowned, "I HAVE NOT!" and Stiles laughed at that. "He's been very good about his diet, really. This is very light canola oil."

"Yeah," Derek said, he tugged at Stiles' apron strings from behind, "you're the one who made fun of my low-fat desserts."

Stiles grinned at the recollection; he turned his head momentarily when Derek pulled his strings. Kate liked watching this; it brought a smile to her face after her long day; she was hungry, as well. There was a stack on the counter of letters that had come in the mail and she began going through them, brushing back strands of hair that fell in her face, turning her ankles in circles and making them crack; Derek glanced at her over his shoulder, aware she appeared like she could be cheered up.

"You totally missed it," he said, "we were making out _all day_."

Stiles snorted so loud he got both of them looking in his direction.

"Right," he said, smiling sarcastically in the pan in his hand. "That is…_exactly…_the thing you missed."

"All day," Derek repeated.

They hadn't actually made out at all, but it did cheer Kate up to hear it.

"And you stopped the moment I came in?" She asked, and without missing a beat Derek replied, "Yup…"

"Actually we were cooking completely naked until you came in."

"With just—" Derek said, signaling his chest and abdomen, "—just aprons, you know—"

"Because—this isn't—you know—something she'd want to see at all."

"All this we said while we were making out."

They finally got her to laugh. "I really missed out on some good stuff!" she said, "You'll just have to do it again, so I can see."

Stiles and Derek were back to cooking, both smiling while going about the tasks.

"Nope, it was a one-time thing," Stiles said, "and you missed it."

Derek turned his head partway to Kate. He smiled and winked while rubbing his hands with a kitchen towel; he then walked over to Stiles and got one hand on his shoulder, startling him inadvertently, he leaned in to kiss him and completely missed. Stiles scrambled with the pan, it scraped loudly on the stovetop and he got the wooden spoon on Derek's arm, staining his sleeve with the sauce.

"Shit, what are you—" he muttered, and now Derek was examining his sleeve for the stain, he was holding the fabric out and looking over his shoulder.

_For Kate, this was good enough._

They had her undivided attention, she was sitting stiffly with both hands over her mouth, grinning like a kid on Christmas morning.

Stiles and Derek were now laughing about it, Stiles was on about how _that was dangerous,_ and he could have burned something, and also he was apologizing for getting the spoon on Derek's shirt.

"Look at her," Derek smirked, "having a great time."

Stiles glanced up from the pan; it was very compelling to play to her obvious interest.

She wasn't even saying anything, she was too stunned; _she'd never actually seen them at it before._

"It's like she'd under some spell," Stiles grinned while going back to stirring, suddenly shy.

"Again," she finally managed to say, completely flushed in the face, eyes bright—like she forgot how tired she was.

Stiles chuckled silently, Derek was back to his side of the kitchen and shook his head without looking up. "no, that was a one-time thing."

"That's what you said last time!"

"Yeah, well…" he mumbled, enable to think of a good response.

"Pretend it's for a film!" Kate said.

"Yeah, what _kind of film?"_ Stiles couldn't help asking, it got Kate squealing with surprise, and now Derek turned toward him, outright laughing.

"We know…_exactly_…what kind of film…you want to see…" he said while pointing at her, and she got both hands down on the counter, "Yes…!"

"Too bad it is _not_ happening," Stiles said, finally turning off the stove and proceeding to the other side of the kitchen, where he began pouring the contents of the pan into a large bowl.

"Oh, come on! Now you have to!" she cried, and Stiles would be lying if he'd said he didn't like the attention.

"Now we have to," Derek said without turning around, he held his hands to the sides _like it couldn't be helped._

"Do we have to?" Stiles asked, he wiped his hands on the towel and turned to Derek with his brow furrowed, like it were a serious matter of deliberation.

Derek glanced at Kate, then back at Stiles; they were now pretending to weigh the pros against the cons, intentionally giving her a hard time. "But the weather just isn't right for it," Stiles said with convincing severity, "the sun—isn't in the right position in the sky—oh, it's evening, isn't it—this stars, then—"

"Just do it already…" Kate whined miserably from behind her hands, and Stiles glanced at her with pretense of serious concern. "Really suffering there, isn't she?"

"I think we should humor her," Derek said.

"Yes, you should humor me."

It was somehow embarrassing with her watching—

"Alright," Derek said to Stiles, "I'm doing it." He wanted to have him prepared this time, as not to startle him.

Kate stiffened in her seat, both legs and arms crossed very tight.

"Alright," Stiles resigned finally, he smiled good-naturedly at Kate, "why is it so fucking embarrassing now…"

Kate might have muttered about how _cute_ that was, but she didn't want to disrupt whatever might have; she watched with breath suspended while Derek got one hand on Stiles' cheek, he leaned forward and kissed him very slowly. They both knew _the sort of thing she wanted to see._ They gave it their best work of _passionate movie kiss,_ actually having a great time with it, trying to outdo each other in a _convincing delivery._

Kate was completely floored. She stared with both hands clasped over her mouth; smiling widely and so overcome with love she was stupidly speechless. She chuckled, watching them go back to work after the fact like nothing happened at all, she brushed her hair behind one ear, she finally murmured, "Oh my god…"

"Happy now?" Stiles asked from over the sink where now he was rinsing the pan, there was just a hint of a smile at the corner of his mouth; Derek was turned the other way and sliding the chopped vegetables into another container.

"Oh my god…" Kate mumbled again, it came muffled from behind her hands, she was quietly chuckling. _Derek couldn't remember the last time he'd seen her so giddy._ "That was…" she said, "…that was the hottest thing I've ever seen."

"We should set the table," Derek said to Stiles, and Stiles agreed, _but they both were blushing._

_They loved the way she was looking at them._

It was great fun for the rest of the evening to tease her about it, because she remained in a lightheaded state of euphoria ever since, she wasn't really listening to anything or paying attention, she didn't even eat much. Stiles and Derek were aware of the power they had, the temptation to torment her about it was almost irresistible. They touched each other ever so slightly, they chose carefully calculated times to call each other _baby_, they made subtle references to what they'd presumably done while she wasn't home.

"Oh, would you get your foot off of mine? I'm trying to have dinner," Stiles said, and Derek scoffed in surprise, he regarded him from over his fork, "That's not what you said yesterday," he said with a small grin.

Kate was loving every minute of it, and she was in love with them both.

"Oh, you're not eating _anything,_" Derek said, leaning toward her, "and after we've spent all this time—"

She chuckled, smiling big with her eyes tightly shut. "You guys are such—you're so—"

"We're so what?" Stiles asked with pretense of absolute concern, he deliberately got one hand on Derek's hand.

She was terribly easy to please. She made them feel very attractive and desirable, and was very nice toward them _if only they kept it up._

They were watching a movie later that evening, and when it was over Stiles had got up and stretched. "I'm going for a bath, Derek," he said mid-yawn, "if you want to come with."

It was an excellent delivery and would be almost convincing if Derek hadn't know him so well: Stiles showered in the mornings, after running. "But we've taken our bath today already," he said, and now Kate tossed a cushion at his head.

"I'm going to kill you. Both of you," she laughed, "if I die of—sexual frustration, it's _your _fault!"

"Our fault? Stiles asked with feigned astonishment, he had one hand on his chest like he was genuinely hurt; he dodged the cushion that came flying at him after that.

She watched him later while he was brushing his teeth at the bathroom sink, she was standing beside Derek in the hall. "How can a guy be so _hot_?" she asked genuinely fascinated. "You'd agree with me, right?"

Derek laughed; he nodded like he was weighing it over. "He is fucking sexy," he said. By now, it was pretty much a universally-accepted fact, and Derek was aware it had legitimate basis.

"God, his—" Kate said, "—his ass is so—perfect!"

She continued with a complete breakdown of every bit of him, eyes bright with enthusiasm, and it was something to which everyone could relate. Derek gently mussed her hair and leaned to kiss her briskly, "I know what you want," he said, and then left to get ready for bed.


End file.
